Avengers: The Captain, the Recruit, and Infinity
by JrockJun
Summary: After her initial encounter with the man in blue, Lucy Carlisle never could have foreseen the rapid turn that her life would take, but despite everything, she did not regret the choice that she had made. (Steve/OC)
1. Chapter 1

**Synopsis****  
**  
After her initial encounter with the man in blue, Lucy Carlisle never could have foreseen the rapid turn that her life would take, but despite everything, she did not regret the choice that she had made.

The story will be focused on the main Avengers movies and Captain America 2 and 3, staying as canon-accurate as possible, with some liberties taken for the sake of the main character's story, and diverting pretty significantly toward the end.

**Author's Introduction****  
**  
A story like this had been nagging at me, in some form, ever since I saw Captain America: Civil War in May of 2016. I was hesitant to write a fanfiction that would be shared publicly, but once I finally decided to take on the challenge, it felt like a burden was lifted. :)

The Captain America and Avengers movies are my absolute favorites~ When The Avengers came out, it hit me really hard, and I wanted to be a member of S.H.I.E.L.D. and/or an Avenger so much. (My favorite aspects of the MCU have always been S.H.I.E.L.D., Hydra, the original 6 Avengers, badass Nick Fury, etc.) A couple of months or so before 'Endgame' was released, I suddenly became intensely emotionally invested in Captain America, on a level that I hadn't experienced before, which is ultimately what pushed me to write this. I technically started (in a very minor way) on May 13th, but it wasn't until I saw 'Endgame' on May 28th that I started working on it with dedication. It's felt so great to get it out of my system, and though I'm a bit nervous to post it (it's a little embarrassing to be writing emotional content about characters that aren't my own), I want to share it with other fans who might feel similarly (or even identically) about Cap and the Avengers. :')

This is serving as an outlet for pent-up feelings that I've had for many years, like a kind of therapy, and, because of 'Endgame,' closure. It's also a kind of tribute to the main portion of the MCU as it's come to an end after being such a staple in so many people's lives, including my own.

I'll update as often as possible, but there might be a larger gap between chapters here and there, depending on how things go. Also, there will likely be some romance later on, but how much will depend on how the story feels as it progresses, especially considering that I'll be working around certain things from the movies. I'm extremely excited about what's to come, and I hope, at the very least, that it can be even a fraction as cathartic and meaningful for you as it is for me. Enjoy~ :)

(**Disclaimer:** Of course, I do not own the MCU or any of Marvel's characters. This is purely an outlet for strong feelings that I have about certain movies in the series and a certain beloved captain.)

**P.S.** I decided to start posting this on July 4th (earlier than originally planned), in honor of Steve Rogers' birthday. :)  
(Also being posted on Archive of Our Own)

* * *

**Chapter 1**

The city night was cool and slightly damp. Lucy's sneakers splashed occasionally in shallow puddles as she walked along the street, headlights and streetlamps glaring off of the wet pavement. Her friend, Lena, had invited her to Germany for a few days, where she had just recently moved to attend art school. Lucy had been there for three full days, but it only took her one to be able to see that Stuttgart was a great place to live if you were an art student. Not only were there several museums, but the varied architecture alone was quite interesting to behold. Lena had brought her to Keonigstrasse on her second day in the city. There was so much to look at, and so many shops, but Lena had only shown her her favorites, so she wouldn't feel overwhelmed.

Lucy was currently on her way back to her friend's apartment after having been out with her for the evening. The two had departed the cafe a short while ago where they had enjoyed a nice evening appetizer, but Lucy had wanted to linger a bit, and maybe check a shop on the way back, so she'd told Lena that she would catch up with her. She was quite enjoying the nightlife, and found the atmosphere of the shopping district both invigorating and relaxing.

She rounded a corner, her hand clutching the strap of her purse on her shoulder absentmindedly as she observed the post-rain look of the streets and walkways, the scent of nitrogen hanging in the air. A large, grand building with large columns and dramatic uplighting loomed up toward the dark sky on her left. She had passed it with Lena before, but it somehow looked even more impressive at night.

Before she had gotten very far at all, she heard distant screaming, and then the doors of the building were thrown open, a terrified flood of people pouring out onto the street and across to the small plaza, and the screams seemed to be everywhere. Lucy froze, her brain wondering what was wrong, while her feet couldn't decide where to go. As the crowd rushed toward her, something else drew her attention. One lone person was behaving in complete contradiction to the panicked civilians.

He looked like a man, surely—aside from the strange and beastly golden horns that curved up from a golden helmet. The rest of his attire—an equally gilded caped armor of some kind—looked a bit less unusual, but still extremely out of place, and not something that one was used to seeing on the streets in daily life. He appeared to give off a warm light as he strode calmly and deliberately forward, across one of the red carpets laid out before the building's entrances. Lucy felt a horrible sense of danger from the man, but was unable to take her eyes off of him as she was jostled by the screaming crowd. The light around the figure shifted and faded, and Lucy saw that he was carrying something: a staff of some kind? Or a weapon? _Please, let it not be a weapon,_ she begged internally. A point of light on the staff glowed a vibrant blue.

The man began to cross the street, following the others, his pace quickening slightly. Lucy's feet finally decided to move, and she took a few steps back as the man advanced on the large group of people with a determined expression. Suddenly, a siren wailed on the neighboring street, and two police cars, lights flashing, turned toward the commotion outside of the building. As soon as the lead car had rounded the corner, the man thrust out the staff, and Lucy jumped as a flash of blue light, with the appearance of smoke, shot forth and collided with the vehicle, enveloping it completely for a second, and simultaneously upending it and silencing it before sending it hurtling down the street, in the direction of the crowd. The car crashed down onto its roof and came to a grinding halt. Lucy stared in stunned horror, praying that the poor officers—however many were inside—would be okay. Her fear that the staff was a weapon had just been proven right. There was no doubt that this man was dangerous. What had he done inside of the building to make everyone evacuate?

Just then, the crowd gasped collectively, and Lucy whipped around to see what they were reacting to as a clear tenor voice rang out in a smooth and noble-sounding accent. "Kneel before me."

Suddenly, Lucy realized that there was more than one of the man. And in the next second, there were four, standing at intervals around the crowd, as if to box them in. _What the hell . . . __?!_ Lucy struggled to keep her bearings as a woman backed into her, and she in turn jostled into someone else.

The strangely dressed man was not pleased with the civilians' inability to comply instantaneously with his order. His voice came again, with a touch more menace, "I said_ . . . _" then, he brought the bottom of his staff down heavily onto the ground, and all of his duplicates' staffs, along with the original, gave a strong pulse of bright blue light. The power that rippled through the air was palpable, and Lucy could feel the crowd's fear increase significantly. She noted that the staff looked much more like a spear, now that it was held upright. As soon as the light faded, the man bellowed over his onlookers, "KNEEEEEL!" His face then split into a pleased and almost triumphant grin as the people immediately began to sink to their knees before him. Lucy felt herself hesitate, her body crying out for her to not give this man such a respectful and submissive gesture. But she also did not want to be the only one left standing, as she was sure that it would not end well for her, and she did not want to have done to her what was done to that police car.

With a disgusted feeling in her chest, and a shameless glare at the man, her knee met the cold, hard, damp ground. If she had to kneel, she would only give him one.

"Is not this_ . . . _simpler?" the man addressed the subdued crowd as he strolled forward slowly. "Is this not your natural state?" Lucy cringed inwardly, the fear giving way slightly to anger at this man's audacious and condescending words. "It's the unspoken truth of humanity_ . . . _that you _crave_ subjugation. The bright lure of freedom diminishes your life's joy in a mad _scramble_ for power_ . . . _for identity. You were made_ . . . _to be ruled. In the end_ . . . _you will always kneel," he finished with that self-satisfied, gleeful grin. Lucy wanted to wipe it from his face—using that spear, if possible.

Suddenly, there was movement to her right, and she turned her head to see an elderly man slowly getting to his feet. Fear struck her again, this time for the man's safety, and her eyes darted quickly to the threatening spear-wielding figure.

"Not to men like you," the older man's voice rang out in German-accented English.

The horned man exhaled a laugh, his grin not faltering for a moment. "There _are_ no men like me."

Unfazed, and standing with a fearless gleam in his eyes and a confidence that surprised Lucy somewhat, the elderly man replied, "There are always men like you." She could hear the wisdom in his words, the ages-old experience that colored them, and she could practically feel his haunted memories seeping from his glare directed at the arrogant younger man across the crowd. She wondered how old the German man had been during World War II.

Suddenly, with a relaxed expression, and a slightly faded grin, the horned man raised the spear. "Look to your elder, people." Lucy's stomach dropped. Her eyes widened and her pulse quickened as the weapon was leveled at the unarmed man. The blue glow intensified, sending a shudder of power through the air once more. Lucy's heart was in her throat. He was going to be killed. Right in front of her—in front of all of those people. This wasn't a car—this was a person of flesh and blood. What would that weapon do to him? She had to do something. If she moved right now, she might be able to knock the elderly man aside before he was hit—or maybe she would be just in time to get hit herself. But could she let that deter her from acting? Her mind reeled in those few brief seconds, her knee an inch off of the ground, her whole body tense as she debated what to do.

The threatening stranger lowered his tone significantly and said, his words dripping with menace, "Let him be an example."

_MOVE!_ She screamed at herself. But she didn't have time.

In the next instant, the spear seemed to explode, releasing a flash of deadly energy that flew over the heads of the subdued crowd, toward the wicked man's helpless victim. Lucy felt a scream ready to tear from her chest, when suddenly, in the blink of an eye, something appeared and deflected the blast of blue light back to its source, violently knocking the spear-wielder off of his feet. Breathless, Lucy saw him go down, then her head snapped back to the man now standing protectively in front of the elder. The new arrival slowly stood up from a crouch, a shiny round shield held before him. Smoke wafted off of its surface as the man lowered the shield and squared his shoulders to the enemy. He had dropped down from the sky so quickly that he had seemed to materialize from thin air. His silhouette was powerful, and by the light from the building and the surrounding streetlamps, Lucy could see that he was clad in a full-body suit of some kind—which included a helmet-like mask that hid the top half of his face—in primarily a dark shade of blue, with some silver and red detailing. She thought she caught a glimpse of a star on his chest.

"You know," said the newcomer as he strode forward through the crowd, toward the horned man, who was now on his knees, the cocky air of grandeur wiped from his face, "the last time I was in Germany, and saw a man standing above everybody else, we ended up disagreeing."

Lucy barely had time to wonder who he could be talking about, for the horned man, still armed, and preparing to get back to his feet, replied in that tone laced with menace, "The soldier." He gave a devious chuckle, the grin returned to his face. "The man out of time." He straightened up, gripping his spear and glaring across at the man with the shield.

"I'm not the one who's out of time," the latter retorted, and Lucy was once again left with no time to ponder the cryptic words, as a strange sound emanated from somewhere high above. It sounded like an engine. Looking up, Lucy spotted two small red lights against the black sky, and between them, what appeared to be an aircraft, but one completely unknown to her. Something opened up in the bottom of the craft, and an amplified female voice echoed through the night, "Loki, drop the weapon and stand down."

Without hesitation, the horned man—apparently named Loki—shot an explosion of blue light at the ship. Lucy flinched at the sudden burst of energy through the air as the ship mercifully managed to dodge the attack, and suddenly, so fast that Lucy barely saw it, the man with the mask threw his shield straight at Loki. It ricocheted off of the other man's chest, flew up into the air, and was back in its owner's possession in a heartbeat. Now with a chance to escape, the crowd had begun to scatter frantically, jostling Lucy and forcing her to the side, and the masked man, having closed the gap between himself and Loki, wasted no time in throwing a good right hook to the horned man's face. However, the latter hardly seemed fazed, and it only took a second for him to start throwing blows of his own, the spear sparking against the shield with each ferocious swing.

Lucy gasped, a wave of fear stabbing through her, as the masked man was thrown across the plaza. He seemed unhurt, however, for he immediately got to his knees and threw his shield once more at his adversary. It was deflected by the glowing spear, but the heroic man in blue continued his assault on his horned opponent, barehanded.

The fight only lasted a few more seconds before the masked man, right after landing a seemingly solid punch to Loki's ribs, was knocked several yards away by the villain's spear. Lucy's heart was pounding as the domineering figure, now with a clear advantage, held the blunt end of the spear against the masked man's head, forcing him to bow. Even from across the plaza, Lucy could hear him growl, "Kneel."

But, contrary to appearances, the blue-clad man was not done. In a flash, he shoved the weapon away, stood up, and with a determined "Not today!" he landed a brilliant kick to Loki's chest, tipping the arrogant man off balance, and the fight was back on.

The valiant man had just been thrown, yet again, when the intense combat was disrupted by what sounded like_ . . . _rock music, from somewhere in the distance. A few seconds later, Lucy realized that it was coming from above. She looked up, scanning the darkness, and as the music increased in volume, something that looked like a rocket cut through the black sky. It soared underneath the hovering aircraft, and just as Lucy realized that it looked humanoid, it fired an intense flare of orange light that sparked like fire and knocked Loki off of his feet once again. This time, he was the one who was thrown. Lucy felt the shock wave through the ground as the flying man came down heavily on his knee in the plaza. Loki made a landing of his own—a painful one, by the sound of it—on the plaza steps several yards behind where he had just been standing. Lucy stared in awe at the armored suit as it got to its feet and held up its arms, training several weapons on the fallen villain in a very convincing checkmate. Now that it was no longer flying, she recognized what it was—_who_ it was. _No way__ . . . __that's—_

"Make your move, Reindeer Games," Tony Stark's voice emanated from the external speakers in the Iron Man suit. Both relieved and amused, Lucy felt a smile crack her previously frightened expression at the dry delivery of his humorous choice of words. The aircraft maneuvered closer, its engine reverberating between buildings. The man in blue had now joined his comrade, the shield back on his arm, and the two men stared down at their enemy, both ready to continue the fight if necessary. As it turned out, it wouldn't be. A gentle golden light emanated from Loki, just as Lucy had seen when he'd first exited the building, and when the light receded, he was left without his flashy armor. The spear had also vanished. Slowly he raised his hands in surrender.

Iron Man retracted his weapons. "Good move."

Lucy stared, wondering how on Earth the villain was able to make copies of himself and make his very solid objects vanish like they had always been nothing but light, when a distant-sounding melodic ringing pulled her attention from the scene before her and drew it to her purse. Feeling shaken, she reached inside with slightly trembling hands and dug out her cellphone. Lena was calling. She silenced the phone by answering it, simultaneously turning her self-conscious gaze back to the men standing across the way. She had been so caught up in the fight that she had neglected to flee like everyone else, and she was now more aware than ever that she was the only civilian present, and it really felt like she shouldn't be there.

_"Lucy? Hello?"_ came Lena's voice in her ear.

"Y-yeah, I'm here_ . . . _just a sec_ . . . _" Lucy muttered, somewhat breathless, as she started to turn in the opposite direction of Iron Man, the man with the shield, and the defeated Loki, trying not to draw attention to herself.

_"Why are you being so quiet? Is something up?"_

"I'm fine," Lucy replied in the same hushed tone, her heart still beating rather rapidly as she tried to escape the scene as quickly and quietly as possible, eager to return to the safety of her friend's apartment and some dinner; perhaps a nice, comforting delivery order from one of Lena's favorite restaurants that she had been telling Lucy about. Stuttgart had turned out to be much more eventful than she ever could have anticipated. Never in a million years would she have predicted that Iron Man would show up. And the man with the shield, whoever he was, had impressive combat skills of his own. She had never before seen anyone fight like that in real life. It had been an exhilarating and terrifying encounter, but now she felt drained. Maybe her last day in the city would be well-spent somewhere quiet.

As she left the plaza and crossed the street behind it, remembering to check for traffic at the last second—though there were no cars in sight—she had a sneaking feeling that someone was watching her go.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Lucy stood in line at the coffee shop, trying to choose two items on the menu board above the counter. An abrasive car horn blared on the street, with a few more seeming to echo it in the distance. She hadn't missed the New York City traffic, or the temperament of its people. One of the three customers ahead of her moved aside to wait for their order.

_Alright, a mocha it is. As for the sandwich . . ._

As she scrutinized the menu to the right of the list of drinks, a series of distant pops and bangs caused everyone in the cafe to look up from whatever they were doing and turn their attention to the windows. Out on the street, most pedestrians were standing around, staring up at something. Then, Lucy noticed their shocked and fearful expressions. The people outside began to walk backwards, away from whatever they were looking at, or simply turned and ran. A sinking feeling and a familiar jolt of fear struck Lucy, along with flashbacks of the encounter with Loki in Germany just two nights prior: a crowd of people running, scared and panicked; the menacing man who could flip a car, barely having to lift a finger to do so. But the following sounds that came from outside the cafe and disrupted Lucy's memories were far more terrifying than what had happened that night in the plaza.

Explosions. So many of them that she couldn't estimate a number. It sounded like a battlefield. And it was coming closer. Rapidly.

The people in the cafe were beginning to panic now. "Stay inside, and come away from the windows!" one of the male employees shouted from behind the counter, and everyone immediately complied. Lucy was pressed closer to the counter, a barrier of several people between her and the front of the store. She clutched her purse tightly, afraid that she might lose it. More people on the street were fleeing: women in heels and pencil skirts, and men in suits, just going about their workday; children being hauled along by their frantic parents, young adults who had probably been having a nice time with friends. Several people diverted into the cafe, bursting through the door with stricken faces, and immediately hurrying to join everyone else where they were now gathered, near the inner wall and around the counter.

"What's happening?!" a man asked the new arrivals.

"I don't know," a woman replied, "there are ships dropping bombs or something!"

"Bombs?! Is it terrorists?!" cried another woman near the corner of the room.

"How should I know?!"

"It was like they were shooting, not bombing," another man spoke up. "And the ships . . . didn't look like ships."

"What are you talking about?"

Lucy's eyes were glued to the street beyond the windows as she listened to the conversation around her. The ground trembled faintly with each explosion, and her heart was pounding. The horrifying sounds were so much louder now. The tension in the room was mounting. Suddenly, the door was thrown open again as two more men and another woman barreled into the cafe. Then, there was a streak of blue light and fire, and Lucy watched as the building across the street lost a chunk of its facade. The concrete crumbled to the street below, crushing a parked car like it was aluminum foil. An instant later, a ball of fire exploded in the street, sending asphalt flying dangerously close to the windows. The small crowd in the room gasped, and some shrieked, and everyone huddled closer together. Though it all seemed to happen so slowly, it must have only been two or three seconds, because the door hadn't even closed behind the three newcomers when there was another flash of light and fire, and the front of the cafe was blown in.

Lucy screwed her eyes shut and turned away, but could still feel bits of rubble fly into her hair. Screams broke out in the small crowd as the bodies pressed even more closely together. If they hadn't been so tightly packed already, some might have been trampled underfoot as everyone struggled to get farther away from the blast. Lucy found it momentarily difficult to breathe as she was squeezed between panicked customers. As the debris settled, some of the screams turned into moans of pain. Lucy cast her gaze toward the front of the cafe. It was now a gaping hole leading onto the street, distant screams and explosions no longer dampened by the wall of windows. Glass, concrete and wood lay in smithereens across the floor. Lucy then turned her attention to the front of the group, and saw that not everyone was still standing. The crowd began to loosen, giving each other a bit more room as some people toward the front knelt down. Lucy edged her way forward and saw that larger pieces of debris, some as large as bowling balls, had been blasted into the front row. A couple of people were on the ground, clearly injured, one looking unconscious, with a few others trying to determine her condition. Lucy's gut twisted. The people behind her continued to shift, a bit more urgently now, and she looked over her shoulder to see them staring down at something.

"Are they okay?!"

"Move aside, give them room!"

Heart still pounding, Lucy tried to get a look at what had happened. Through a gap between legs, she saw a man on the floor, lying still. With some maneuvering, she identified several other pieces of rubble scattered about amongst the group, and could see that a woman was lying on the floor near the man. It suddenly hit her how narrowly she had avoided getting hit by the debris. She hadn't even noticed it flying over their heads.

"Somebody call an ambulance!" a woman cried out through the surrounding commotion.

"You think they're gonna come during all this?" answered a man. "Look at what's happening outside! There are probably hundreds of people calling for an ambulance!"

"Just DO IT!"

Lucy eased her way out of the crowd, stepping carefully through the debris field and cautiously, nervously approached the jagged remains of the front of the cafe. The street was quiet. Instead of fleeing people, it was now filled with rubble and burning wreckage. Lucy stared at the smoldering crater in the middle of the road as she listened to the chaos ensuing throughout other parts of the city.

"All the lines are busy!" a woman yelled.

"Damnit!"

"What do we do? We can't leave them like this! Does anyone know what to do?"

More memories of that day in Stuttgart came to the forefront of Lucy's mind as she listened to the frightened and agitated voices behind her. She thought of the crowd—being jostled between people, much like she had been just a minute ago—and of the old man who had stood up to Loki. And the man with the shield who had dropped in, seemingly from nowhere, saved the elderly man's life, and taken on the formidable villain with his bare hands. And she thought about her inability to move from that submissive position and do something herself. Then, she thought of something else, and before she could really consider what it entailed, she had made up her mind. She stepped through the gaping hole, and with a cursory glance down the street both ways and up toward the sky, she left the cafe.

She knew that finding help on foot in a situation like this would likely be difficult and was not practical, but trying was better than waiting out whatever this terrible event was, tucked away inside the cafe.

Taking great caution, while still trying to move as quickly as she could, Lucy made her way down the street to the first intersection. With each distant explosion, her heart thudded painfully. Most remained unseen, but occasionally she would spot a streak of vibrant blue light that would end in a ball of fire, high up on one of the buildings on a neighboring street. She ducked uselessly, keeping close to the nearest wall every time one of the strange aircraft would zoom through the air nearby, praying that none would find her. She hated feeling so vulnerable, and wished that she had one of her dad's guns. So much for the practice that she'd gotten at the range back home. What good was it if she couldn't put it to use when she was in a situation where it might save her life—or somebody else's?

Her stomach plummeted when she saw the first body: a man, lying in the street beside an upturned car. She averted her eyes, forcing herself onward and fighting back a sickening feeling of dread.

She came to the end of the block and nervously peered around the corner. More destruction littered the streets, low flames licking cars and chunks of buildings, dirty smoke drifting through the air. She looked up. There was no sign of the attackers, so she took the chance and hurried down the next street. As she stepped around an enormous section of concrete, rebar protruding dangerously at skewed angles, she could have sworn that she heard something small hit the pavement in front of her. With a sudden wash of fear, she turned her eyes upward, simultaneously stepping away from the wall. A huge hole had been blown in the front of the building, about halfway up. As she took in the sight, her suspicion was confirmed as another tiny piece of debris fell and landed on the walkway a couple of yards ahead of her. Apparently she would have more to worry about than just the explosions and the strange ships now. Hurrying onward at a jog, she passed the building, keeping an eye out for any more evidence of severe destruction, her eyes constantly roaming over the surrounding buildings as well as the sky.

The first sign of the authorities that she found was several policemen ushering people down a street, through a series of abandoned cars, away from an attack that sounded so near, it must have been right around the next corner. The civilians were running toward Lucy. She slowed, hesitating. The police looked busy, but she needed medical professionals. Maybe she could at least ask them if they could call in the trouble at the cafe, notify paramedics. She was about to take a chance and approach one of the men in uniform when a roaring, shrieking sound split the air somewhere behind her, and she whipped around just in time to see one of the bizarre little ships careen onto the street, flying directly toward her, the policemen and the civilians running for cover. She began to run herself, knowing that if it wanted to shoot at her, she wouldn't stand a chance. As if to demonstrate, the ship fired a projectile of light at the street, near the fleeing group of people. One of the cars was destroyed, sending a plume of billowing flame and smoke into the air. The ship was gone in no time, turning down another street. The people, even more afraid now, picked up their pace, skirting the burning vehicle.

Suddenly, a tremendous crashing reverberated through the streets, but no massive explosion preceded it. A pit of dread filled Lucy's stomach, and she searched the air frantically for what might be coming. Horrified, she watched helplessly as a monstrous ship, many, many times larger than the others, passed the end of the street, glass and concrete raining down in its wake as it tore into the buildings to its right and left. It looked alien, and moved like some organic creature, not a hulking technological advancement. But as she stared, she realized that it may very well be some kind of creature. Of one thing she was certain: The probability of it being alien was very high.

The people ran for shelter inside the nearest building at the sight of the ship, and the policemen dispersed, heading toward a different street. It must have been because she was currently standing behind a car that had been smashed with a huge chunk of cement, but the men ran right past Lucy without a second glance. She supposed that that was best, for they might have had her join the other civilians behind closed doors, and she wasn't here to hide.

She said a silent prayer of thanks that the ship-creature had not come down her street, before carrying on in her mission to find medical assistance. The thought occurred to her, as she hurried over rubble and around damaged vehicles, that the injured might already be receiving treatment, but she would rather not give up due to an assumption. However, the longer she was out here, the more it seemed that there really weren't going to be any available medical personnel. Teams of firefighters, police officers, paramedics, and even some military men were doing as much as they could to help so many people, they hardly even seemed to have time to breathe. It appeared that her efforts had been in vain. But she kept walking, wondering if she might be of help in some other way—though she had no training herself of any kind, so what could she really do?

A little farther along, after managing to duck behind an abandoned bus on another block and avoid becoming a target, she saw something different. Two ships flew overhead, veering left and right, with the second firing upon the one in front of it. The streaks of blue light continuously missed their mark, colliding instead with the surrounding buildings. Lucy flinched as a hunk of one of the walls came crashing down, several car lengths from where she crouched. When the ships were gone, she waited a beat, then pulled herself back up and continued her slow jog through the war zone. Her pace had grown a bit unsteady, as she had begun to tire after so many city blocks.

Down another street she went, holding her breath through the smoke drifting across her path, stepping around more and more rubble and nearly stumbling into a nasty bit of rebar, when suddenly, another small ship flew overhead. She ducked instinctively, but kept her eyes on it. Two humanoid figures leapt from the aircraft onto the front of the bank down the block, and entered through a gaping second-story window. Lucy had halted in her tracks. It was one thing to dodge attacks from the sky and hide indoors, but the enemy was on the ground now; none of the buildings could be considered safe. She stared at the bank with fear and apprehension, not wanting to get any closer. As she began to rethink her trajectory, screams issued from inside the newly invaded building. The sound made her feel utterly helpless.

Then, the grating, rumbling noise of engines came from the opposite end of the street, past the bank. It wasn't the roaring shriek of the alien crafts, but a much more familiar and reassuring sound. A firetruck pulled up, and several firefighters rushed toward a building down the street from the bank. Lucy watched as they reemerged, escorting and carrying very weary-looking civilians from the building, and she noticed smoke wafting from a few of the windows. The rescue team helped to usher a few of the remaining people out onto the street. Lucy felt the urge to call out and tell them that there were people in the bank who needed help, but her voice caught in her throat. She could see how preoccupied they were, but they were the only ones there. She took an apprehensive step forward, then another, her courage building gradually the closer she got to the bank. As she went, she looked for possible places to take cover, in case those creatures should leave the bank—or more should arrive.

She was only one building away now, close enough to be within earshot of the firefighters, but also close enough to possibly draw the attention of the enemy if she shouted. Still, she had to do something. As she prepared to yell, a man suddenly appeared, racing at a breakneck speed down the street. Lucy's eyes widened with recognition as he neared. When he reached the bank, he scaled a car with ease, then launched himself up through the gaping window, his shield held securely on his arm. The silver star and rings of bright red burned themselves into Lucy's mind, and her eyes remained fixated on the window. It had been too dark, that night in Stuttgart, and the battle too fierce for her to be able to properly make out the patriotic colors and symbol, but even though she was now seeing him in a new light, there was no doubt in her mind that it was the very same masked man in blue.

He had taken on Loki, a quite formidable foe, with only his shield and his fists, and he hadn't come out of the fight without taking a beating of his own. Now there were three foes that he was up against, and Lucy found herself worrying for him, her concern only growing with each second that he was inside.

She could hear the sounds of combat through the open window, and occasionally she thought that she saw flashes of blue light. The unseen fight felt like it lasted ages, and yet, all at once, it was over. Without any warning, a powerful explosion of that same blue light shook the street, blowing out all of the unbroken windows of the second floor and blasting something dark blue through the glass, toward the street below. Lucy jumped, her hands flying toward her ears at the unexpected concussive force, but she froze as she watched the man come crashing down onto one of the cars, crumpling the roof like it was cardboard. Her breath caught and her stomach knotted as he lay still—but only for a few seconds. She felt enormous relief as the man slowly and painstakingly pushed himself up and climbed off of the car.

Suddenly, several armored military jeeps and a firetruck pulled up, and soldiers in turrets on top of the vehicles began to fire upon a grouping of ships that soared overhead. A cacophony of gunfire tore through the street, but Lucy barely paid it any mind. She was watching the man in blue as he planted his feet on the ground. He looked battered, filthy and exhausted. But the first thing that Lucy noticed was that his mask was gone. As his eyes gradually moved over all of the destruction around him, his strikingly handsome features painted with concern and what seemed close to hopelessness, she felt something odd in the pit of her stomach. She did not know what she had been expecting to see behind that mask. She had witnessed this man's feats of athleticism and bravery that made him seem somehow inhuman. And yet, she was staring at a man. Just a man; one who looked like he was having one of the roughest days of his life—and who had just fallen from a second-story window, onto a car, and was now back on his feet, as if it had hardly fazed him.

No, he couldn't be just a man.

And suddenly, he was looking at her. He zeroed in on her face, and though that feeling in the pit of her stomach intensified slightly, she couldn't tear her eyes away from him. Then, suddenly, his focus moved behind her, and without warning, his body tensed up and he hurled his shield past her, barely two feet from her shoulder. She flinched, squeezing her eyes shut, heart pounding with renewed adrenaline after the brief lull. She heard the shield collide with something that sounded like it was several yards behind her, and there was a simultaneous screech. She spun around in time to see one of the creatures hit the pavement, and the shield rebounded and returned to the man's grasp.

Lucy was still trying to get her bearings when the man approached her and said, "Miss, get inside and find a secure room, or get underground if you can." As he came closer, she could make out how blue his eyes were. There was a gentle kindness that came through his battle-ready expression as he urged her to take cover.

Before she had a chance to comply, renewed urgent gunfire split the air, and Lucy's eyes darted to the armed men down the street as they tried to take down a cluster of aliens that were quickly advancing while the firefighters were now working to evacuate the people from the bank. The man in blue turned his attention to the conflict as well, looking ready to assist, when a steak of light passed frighteningly close to his head. Another narrowly missed Lucy. She screamed, and in the next instant, the man had stepped in front of her, pulled her into a crouch, and was covering her with both himself and his shield. The bolts of energy slammed into the metallic object, and Lucy merely sat there, hands protecting her head, praying for a projectile to not make it past the barrier. The man was considerably larger than her in stature, but she couldn't help but feel partially exposed, anticipating a sudden agonizing pain somewhere on her body.

Suddenly, her protector stood, and Lucy looked up. He began to advance on the enemy, bright blue streaks ricocheting off of the shield. Eventually the creatures stopped firing and came at him. Lucy watched as the man deftly and valiantly took out each foe with smooth and powerful coordination that left her in awe all over again.

The last of the cluster hit the ground hard, and the man came out of his stance, breathing heavily, sweat glistening on his neck, his neatly cut blonde hair looking slightly more mussed than it already had. The gunfire from the soldiers was still reverberating between the surrounding buildings, accompanied by shouts, screams, and those harsh shrieks of the aliens. Lucy quickly got to her feet as the man returned to her, his intense gaze focused on the chaos of the street. "Get inside, hurry," he urged, and she could tell that he was eager to join the fray. As if to emphasize the urgency of the situation, a bolt of blue burrowed into the wall of the building behind her, not three yards to her left. "Go!" the man cried, turning to face the continuous oncoming fire.

Not feeling keen to stay in the immediate vicinity, Lucy took off in the opposite direction, toward the quieter end of the street, the tumultuous sounds of battle spurring her on. She leapt over a hunk of rubble, then dodged another, willing herself to not lose her footing on the tiny bits of cement, brick and glass that lay scattered treacherously across the road and sidewalk.

Before she had made it to the end of the block, another of the small ships flew around the corner and swooped lower, targeting the melee at the other end of the street with a few blasts, rocking the air with explosions. Lucy practically threw herself behind a car, praying that she hadn't been spotted, and glanced behind her. One of the explosions blew an armored truck off of its wheels, and another barely missed two soldiers on foot. Then, in the next few seconds, one of the soldiers was hit with a shot from an alien gun and went down hard, before the man with the shield took out the offender in the blink of an eye.

As the man engaged the two remaining creatures, Lucy turned her eyes to the sky, glancing around for a sign of another aerial attack. She seemed to be in the clear, but as she made to stand up and keep moving, a commotion from her other side drew her attention. Three creatures had just emerged from an alley, and were heading straight for their nearly defeated comrades. Her head whipped back in the direction of the man in blue. The creatures were advancing, and he wasn't turning around. Heart racing, she began to stand. She knew that she was supposed to be taking cover, that the man had told her to leave, but if she could help—if she could do anything at all—then her presence would be justified. _Just don't get shot,_ she told herself. What a great outcome that would be. The man would have saved her for nothing. _Don't make it be for nothing._

She took a deep breath and yelled at the top of her lungs, "LOOK OUT, BEHIND YOU!"

The man finished ramming his shield into the head of one of the aliens and finally knocked it to the ground where it lay still, before he straightened up at the sound of Lucy's voice and turned. As soon as he faced the oncoming creatures, two of them opened fire at him. He deflected the bolts of light with his trusty shield, advancing steadily toward the enemy. The third creature, however, was focused elsewhere: directly on Lucy. A streak of blue ripped into the car in front of her, and she ducked back behind it, the bolts continuing to penetrate the metal. She knew that it was only a matter of time before they reached her. She waited in terror for the man to incapacitate the creatures, and finally, the horrible sound of the lethal alien weapons tearing into the car ceased, and was replaced by shrieks and screeches and the sound of the metal shield slamming rapidly into its target at close range.

Lucy peered out from behind the vehicle just as the man in blue slammed the third and final alien to the pavement. She could see him catching his breath as the creature lay motionless. Suddenly, gunfire peppered the air from where the remaining soldiers stood, back down the street, and another alien aircraft bombarded the block with a short series of blasts, implanting new fiery craters into the asphalt.

"These bastards just keep comin'!" one of the soldiers cried out over the chaos. Lucy's eyes landed back on the man with the shield, and he was looking at her once again. She couldn't tell whether he was displeased that she was still there, or whether he was grateful for her warning. But her confusion was cleared up when he gave her a succinct nod of acknowledgement, and she felt some form of relief spread through her tense and aching body. He then turned and took off to lend further assistance to the soldiers.

Lucy watched him go before realizing that the way was now cleared for her escape—at least temporarily. She had to take advantage of it. She took a few cautious steps out from behind the car, trying to listen over the din of battle for any possible new arrivals. She knew that she should run, but part of her brain seemed to be preventing it, her feet stepping haltingly through the rubble. She heard a man cry out in pain among the screeching aliens and the small explosions caused by various weaponry, and she glanced back down the street, past the bodies of the three most recently defeated aliens. As she watched, another soldier fell, shot in the chest by one of the aliens' guns. The man with the shield was battling back two creatures at a time, and suddenly he took a punch to the gut, then one of the blue bolts of light struck his side. He was knocked to the ground, and instantly a new surge of adrenaline and fear rushed through Lucy's body. But instead of causing her to finally retreat, it ignited a determination within her. She turned her attention to the aliens lying mere yards away, and her eyes landed on their weapons. It only took a moment for her to decide.

Dropping her purse by the car, she dashed out into the street. She felt so exposed and vulnerable, and she tried to block out the continuous sounds of violence as she focused on her goal, fully aware that she could be taken out at any second. As she neared the bodies, she slowed, approaching them with as much caution as she could afford, in case they weren't actually dead. She reached for the nearest weapon—one of the more compact-looking guns, rather than a staff—and hefted it from the pavement. It wasn't so heavy that she couldn't handle it, and her adrenaline probably helped somewhat. She ran to another car several yards ahead, bringing herself closer to the battle, and after a hurried inspection of the item, she located what she assumed was the trigger. She looked out from behind the car.

The man in blue was back on his feet, with one of the creatures in a headlock. He threw it to the ground and slammed his fist into another, before taking a few hits to his shield. Lucy lifted the alien gun and chose her targets: two creatures that were currently firing upon several soldiers taking cover behind an armored jeep. As much as she wanted to help the man in blue and return the favor for him saving her, there was no way that she could trust herself to not hit him instead of the enemy. She was nervous enough using an unknown weapon for the first time against a target at this distance. But she had to do it, nerves or not, before the aliens decided to move. Taking a deep breath, she fired.

The first bolt of light narrowly missed its mark, but Lucy instantly corrected her aim and fired again. One of the two creatures went down with a screech, and the second immediately switched its attention from the soldiers to the girl. She ducked behind the car as blasts of energy came at her, and felt them rock the vehicle. Suddenly there was a lull, and she took advantage of it, taking aim again. The man with the shield had engaged the alien, and seemed to be making quick work of it. But just then, another two appeared from around one of the military vehicles, and he threw his shield at one, before turning to the other with a ready fist.

Then, Lucy's eye caught movement from the ground behind him, and a pit formed in her stomach as she watched one of the previously defeated aliens slowly recover and get back on its feet. Surging with a protective anger, she pointed the weapon at it, and before it could advance more than two steps toward the man in blue, she fired. It took the shot in the arm, staggered back, and focused on her. She fired again, but not before the alien did as well. The streak of blue whizzed past her head, but she held her ground. With the man in blue preoccupied, if she retreated behind the car, the alien was likely to come after her, and then she would really be in trouble.

She ran toward the middle of the street, keeping the gun trained on the enemy, hoping that she would be harder to hit as a moving target. She got off a couple more shots and avoided two or three herself before she felt a searing pain on her arm, and she nearly dropped the weapon. She cried out, but the adrenaline prevented her from faltering for more than an instant. Her heart pounded, her brain seeming to process everything at hyperspeed. She could feel that another shot was coming for her, and somehow she knew that she wouldn't be able to avoid it. An instant of terror was accompanied by a split-second decision. She angled the gun, holding it sideways in front of her. The next white-hot streak of blue slammed into her makeshift shield, and she was thrown to the hard ground, crying out again as she landed on jagged bits of debris. A crack of pain exploded at the back of her head, and the air left her lungs. She gasped for breath, attempting to recover in time to defend herself. She leaned up partially, squinting through the pain, craning her neck to locate the alien, and fired again. The shot went wide, but the next didn't. She watched the creature finally go down, then turned her attention to the man in blue. He was breathing heavily, having apparently just finished his own battle, and looking at her with a mixture of shock and concern.

After realizing that there were no more aliens visible, her adrenaline began to subside, and the pain in her arm intensified, joined by that of the bruises and possible cuts caused by the bed of rocks beneath her. But the sharp, throbbing ache concentrated at the back of her skull was even more alarming. The gun seemed to grow heavier as the muscles in her arms began to tremble. She laid back, staring up at the bright sky and the surrounding buildings for a few seconds, until everything threatened to start spinning. Squeezing her eyes shut, she focused on breathing, and was barely aware of the footsteps hurrying toward her.

She opened her eyes when a hand was carefully laid on her shoulder. The man in blue was looking down at her, his brow furrowed. "You alright, soldier?" His tone was rather gentle, but still held an air of a military readiness.

Lucy wanted to tell him that she was, but she knew that she probably wasn't. She threw the alien weapon off of herself with a bit of effort, the pain from the wound in her arm flaring up. The blonde man's focus went straight to the injury, then locked back on to her face. "Why didn't you run?"

She met his blue eyes. "I couldn't . . . I couldn't let them just keep going."

His expression softened a bit. "What's your name?"

"Lucy . . ." she managed.

"Lucy. You did good," he said, giving her shoulder a very gentle squeeze. "And you're gonna be alright," he added, nodding minutely to emphasize that he was telling her the truth.

She returned the nod, deciding to believe it, even as her head gave another nasty throb. People had been through much worse than she had and come out of it. She would, too. Even if she could barely move at the moment. And she couldn't deny that that scared her a bit.

The man turned to look over his shoulder and signaled to someone. Seconds later, two soldiers entered Lucy's field of vision.

"Get her out of here," he instructed the soldiers. The authority that his voice exuded, and the other men's willingness to obey, made Lucy wonder what rank he was. Her eyes moved to the silver star on his chest. She had never seen a uniform like that before.

He stood up.

"Wait—" said Lucy, and he halted, casting his gaze back down to where she lay. "Who are you?" There was a kind of nobility in his features, which made for a striking contrast with the soot and grime that streaked his face. That odd feeling returned to her stomach.

After a beat, he replied, "I'm Captain America." And with that, he was gone.

One of the soldiers made a call on a radio, requesting paramedics, and Lucy closed her eyes once more, trying not to think about the pain. Sounds of battle continued to rage throughout the city, and she hoped that Captain America would be alright.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

When Lucy came to, it took her a few seconds to realize that she could no longer hear the sounds of the city being destroyed. Instead, it was peacefully quiet. She was also no longer lying on the rough debris-strewn pavement. Her back was supported by something wonderfully soft. Managing to open her eyes, she found herself lying in a room. The walls were white, and gentle sunlight filtered through partially closed blinds. She took a deep breath, adjusting to being conscious, and wondered how long she had been asleep. She didn't even remember passing out.

Though her mind was a bit disoriented, it didn't take her long at all to assume that she was in a hospital. Automatically she began to assess her condition. The pain in her head had been reduced to a dull ache, as had the bruises on her back. As she moved her limbs slightly, she felt the consequences of her harrowing journey through the war zone as her muscles protested, though the pain wasn't as bad as she had expected it to be. By how tired her body felt, she couldn't imagine that she'd been asleep for very long.

Suddenly she remembered the wound on her arm. The fact that it barely hurt at all had caused it to escape her attention up until that point. She turned her head awkwardly to the right and looked down. Pulling up the short sleeve of the hospital gown that she was wearing, she saw that her arm had been wrapped in bandages. They must have given her something for the pain, because an injury that needed that much gauze probably wasn't trivial. She turned back to face the ceiling and sighed.

Her next thought was of the blonde-haired, blue-eyed man who called himself Captain America, and wondered how he had weathered the rest of the battle; if he had made it through. As she was now in a hospital, and there was no chaos to be heard, she assumed—hoped—that it was all over. And that they had won, and she wouldn't emerge into the world to find their society now being ruled by aliens. The thought made her heart rate quicken slightly, and she tried to dismiss the notion, but was unable to get rid of it completely. Without knowing how the battle had transpired and what the state of things was now, that fear would niggle at the back of her mind, no matter how much she told herself that if New York had been taken by monsters, she probably wouldn't be lying peacefully in this quiet hospital room. Depending on how long she had been there, of course. If the battle had only just ended, maybe the aliens simply hadn't gotten to her yet. Her eyes darted automatically to the door, her ears straining to listen for anything happening in the hallway. Her paranoia began to take over, and the horrifying possibility that she was in an alien ship occurred to her. Thankfully it didn't last long, as logic quickly made her admit that the room looked decidedly like that of a human hospital, and not at all like it belonged in one of those huge machine-creature ships. She exhaled her worries, trying not to get worked up, turning her mind back to what she knew: New York City had suffered monumental damages, and could be mostly ruins by now.

And what about the rest of the world? What if it wasn't just New York? As the possibility of a major change in world order lingered in her mind, the next thought that came to her was of her best friend. Immediately she felt more alert, and began to look around for her purse, eager to find her phone, when she remembered that she had dropped it in the street. Her stomach sank with dread at the prospect of having lost her phone for good, but a moment later, her eyes landed on the familiar black leather bag sitting on the bedside table. Relief cascaded over her, and she felt a bit lightheaded as she reached for the purse. Luckily, it was on the side of her good arm, but it still took a few uncomfortable seconds for her to reach it as she strained her sore body. She was so intent on getting ahold of it that her mind barely gave her the opportunity to wonder how it had been recovered from all of the rubble.

With the small bag on her lap, she opened it and dug inside, hoping that everything was still there, but only caring to check her phone at the moment. She pulled out the device and unlocked it, and was faced with a flood of texts, missed calls, and social-media notifications from friends and family wondering where she was, whether she was still in New York, and begging her to tell them that she was alive.

Her heart squeezed painfully as guilt welled up inside of her, even as she simultaneously reminded herself that there was nothing she could have done to assure them of her safety any sooner.

She started with the two most important people: her parents. Rather than composing a written message, she selected their home number and hit Call. It rang once, then her mother picked up.

"Honey! Honey, where are you?! Are you alright?!"

The sound of her mother's voice made Lucy feel a bit better already. "I'm fine, Mom. Don't worry. I'm in New York, but I'm fine." She didn't know if she should tell her exactly what level of "fine" she was just yet. The last thing that she wanted was for her parents to panic and try to fly out to see her, which she couldn't imagine would be possible, considering what had just happened. And if it weren't possible, then they would be worried absolutely sick for who knew how long.

"Oh, thank goodness," her mother breathed with relief at the other end of the line. "It's been all over the news, and we've been trying to reach you for hours!"

_Hours,_ Lucy echoed in her mind, wondering again how long she had been unconscious. But she couldn't ask her mother how long ago the attack was, or about the current state of the city, without having to tell her why she didn't already know the answers herself. The curiosity was getting to her more and more by the minute, but she held back and remained patient. She would just have to wait for a nurse or doctor to inform her of the situation.

"I'm sorry, Mom, it's been really hectic . . ." The answer was vague, but she hoped that her mother wouldn't press her for more. Thankfully, she didn't; she could probably hear the tiredness in Lucy's voice.

"I'm so glad you're okay," her mother said, the tearful smile apparent in her tone. "Lena wasn't with you, was she?"

"No, Lena's still in Germany," Lucy replied, touched that her mother cared enough about her friend to think of her, too. Although it wasn't that unusual, considering how close the girls had been since high school. Suddenly, a thought occurred to her. This, she could ask. "Do you know if anything's happened over there? I haven't seen the news yet . . ."

"Not that I know of. They don't usually cover European news, but I'm sure that they would have mentioned it if something like that were happening in other parts of the world."

Lucy nodded to herself. "Yeah, I thought so . . ."

"Have you not talked to her yet?"

"No, I called you first."

"Oh, Honey, go ahead and call her, she's probably dying to hear from you."

Lucy gave a tight-lipped smile at her mother's incredibly considerate and understanding reply. "Thanks, Mom. I'll call again later. Tell Dad I love him."

"I will. Take care, Honey."

A few seconds after ending the call, Lucy was pressing the phone back to her ear, listening to the soft, steady ringing tone, surrounded by the quiet of the room. Her best friend's panicked voice interrupted the third ring.

"Oh my _word,_ where have you been?! Are you okay?! I've been freaking out with all this—_insanity_ happening! I thought you were dead, Lucy!"

"I know, I'm sorry, I'm fine," Lucy said, trying her appease her nearly hysterical friend, but knowing that it would take more than that. "Everything's been so crazy, I couldn't get to the phone." It definitely wasn't a lie.

Lena sighed, but it sounded more relieved than annoyed. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Positive." Despite the bruising and other residual pain, Lucy felt that she was indeed okay.

"Good. So, where were you when it happened?"

"In a cafe." She hesitated, but then decided to continue. "I ended up leaving to try to find help because some people were injured."

"Holy . . . you were on the _streets?_"

"Yeah. It was . . . intense."

"No kidding! Everyone here saw it on TV, and it looked like nowhere was safe!"

"Yeah, it seemed that way sometimes," Lucy said, vivid memories of her adrenaline-fueled journey through the city coming back to her. "But I'm fine," she reiterated. "No worries." As Lena had not mentioned anything about an attack in Germany, Lucy assumed that there hadn't been one, but that didn't rule out the rest of Europe, or other countries, so she finally asked her friend the question that she had asked her mother. "Did anything happen anywhere else? Or was it just New York?"

"I think it's just there. At least as far as I've heard."

"That seems weird," Lucy pondered, feeling more confident in that information now that it had come from two sources, one of which being overseas. "Why would they only attack New York? There are plenty of big cities. If they're trying to . . . invade"—the word felt strange to say when associated with alien-like creatures in a real-world situation—"why only go for one? They definitely didn't seem to be short on ships . . ."

"There was . . . some kind of _portal,_ or something . . . they were talking about it on the news. Apparently it's how they got here. Maybe they only had one?" She sounded almost disbelieving of the information, but Lucy knew that it was just because her friend didn't want to sound like a crazy person. Lena had never been one to get into science fiction.

Lucy's eyebrows raised. "A _portal?_" Indeed, it would have sounded insane, if not for the other "insane" things that she had seen recently. Loki and his ability to apparently create very convincing illusions had crossed her mind many times since that encounter, and now she had aliens to add to the list.

"Yeah, I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen everything on TV. At least it's over now."

There was another question answered. Lucy breathed a quiet sigh of relief. "I hope they stay away," she said solemnly. If they had a portal that allowed them to just appear anywhere, there was a very real possibility of this all happening again.

However, as if reading her thoughts, Lena said, "They got their asses handed to 'em. If I were them, I wouldn't want to try again anytime soon."

"They did?" Lucy blurted without thinking about covering up her cluelessness, but she cared too much about knowing what had happened, so she played it off. "I haven't seen the news yet, everything's just kind of overwhelming when you're actually in the middle of it. What exactly happened?"

"The Avengers happened!"

Her friend's statement didn't help Lucy in the slightest.

"The what?"

"They've been all over the news and the Internet! I'm surprised you haven't heard of them. They're apparently this group of . . . _superheroes_ that stopped the invasion!"

"Superheroes?" Lucy frowned, puzzled.

"I know, I know, it sounds totally insane," Lena continued excitedly, "but it's true! I mean, there was this guy who could fly—well, two, if you count Iron Man—"

_Iron Man?_ Lucy felt her concentration sharpen a bit at the mention of the familiar name.

"—and he had long blonde hair and a cape, and I heard he was controlling lightning? Apparently his name's Thor."

_Thor . . . like the Norse god?_

"Then there was this big, green monster that was, like, destroying everything, but he was a total badass at taking out those aliens."

Lucy furrowed her brow as she tried not to consider the fact that she might be hallucinating this conversation.

"Oh! And then there's Captain America!"

Instantly Lucy's mind cleared as a small shot of adrenaline surged through her veins, and the next second or two seemed to lengthen.

"What . . . ?"

"Captain America. Kind of on-the-nose, really. He looked like a walking American flag. Kinda cool, though. Apparently he's super strong and stuff. Personally, Thor's my favorite."

Lucy's brain registered what her friend was now saying about Thor, but it was too busy thinking to respond. He was real. Lena had just verified the existence of the man in blue and his seemingly superhuman abilities. And with Iron Man thrown into the mix—whom the world had already been aware of for years—it was likely that the huge, destructive green monster and the flying man who could control lightning and bore the name of a Norse god were also real. But who was Lucy kidding? After Loki and his energy spear, and the legitimate alien invasion, why wouldn't she believe everything else, too?

"I wish I could meet him. Gosh, if only I'd been there."

Lucy came out of her train of thought at her friend's most recent comment. "I'm pretty sure you wouldn't have felt the same way if you'd actually been here," she replied, exhaling a small chuckle. Lena's crushes sometimes went a hair too far toward obsessions, and it was both amusing and terrifying to think of her running after the so-called Thor during a massive battle as he took on hoards of alien foes.

Lena sighed. "Yeah, yeah, but still," she said dismissively. Then, "You were there, did you get to see anyone?"

Lucy's stomach did an odd flip. She hesitated, but at the same time, a feeling of excitement fluttered inside of her, and she couldn't keep the words in. "I saw Captain America—again."

"Really?! How close? Wait . . . again? What do you . . . Wait a minute, you mentioned something about a guy in a blue suit with a shield when you were here—that thing with the guy and the blue staff? You said Iron Man was there, too, right?!"

Lucy nodded into the phone, a soft smile parting her lips. "Yeah." At the time, when she had returned to her best friend's apartment and unloaded on her about the horned villain and the battle that had taken place in the courtyard in Keonigstrasse, she hadn't been totally confident that Lena had retained all of the information, partly because it was all so outlandish, and partly because it was late and she had been waiting to eat dinner for a while. The girl sometimes had a one-track mind when she was hungry.

"So, was he cool?" Lena prompted.

"Iron Man . . . ?"

"No, Captain America!" Lucy could practically hear Lena give a playful roll of her eyes. "Doesn't everyone know how _cool_ Tony Stark is already?"

Lucy chuckled softly again. "That's true."

"So, how close were you? To Captain America?"

"Oh, um . . . pretty close."

"You think he's handsome, like Thor and Tony? He looked like he was wearing a mask in the footage I saw."

Lucy's chest tightened just a bit. Now that she wasn't afraid for her life in the middle of a war zone, she was able to really consider his looks. She could practically feel a blush color her cheeks. She was so caught up in the memory of him, winded and battle-ragged, sweat on his neck and in his hair, a picture of pure heroism as he protected her from an onslaught of alien gunfire, that she almost forgot to answer her friend's question. After hesitating again briefly, she said, "He wasn't wearing one after a while . . ." She almost felt as if she were admitting something personal, revealing a private experience of hers. Even if it was to her best friend, with whom she had always enjoyed talking about guys, it made her feel just slightly apprehensive.

"Really?! Did you see his face?"

". . . Yeah."

"Well, what's he like?!"

Again, the apprehension was there. He had worn a mask, so that must mean that he didn't want his identity revealed, but Lucy couldn't possibly do that by simply sharing some physical traits with her friend.

"He's blonde, and has blue eyes—"she heard Lena "Ohhh" eagerly on the other end—"and . . ." She paused, unsure of how to describe his face. But as she tried to come up with the right words, she was heavily aware of that feeling that lingered in her stomach.

"Was he good looking?" Lena's tone was sly.

That seemed as decent a descriptor as any, though not quite descriptive enough, Lucy thought, recalling his expression as he'd hovered over her amongst the rubble. "Yeah," she replied, and her smile grew involuntarily as she continued to think of the gorgeous blonde. Gorgeous. Was that more accurate?

"On a scale of one to ten?" her friend pushed.

Lucy was about to blurt out "eleven," that pit in her stomach beginning to make her feel giddy the longer they continued this conversation, but at that moment, the door opened, steering her attention toward the nurse that had just entered the room. "Um, I have to go," she said instead as the nurse approached her. "The—I'll call you back later, okay?" She had nearly slipped up and said that the nurse had just come in. She wasn't sure if her friend would have let her go so easily if she knew that she was in the hospital. Thankfully, the conversation ended on the positive note that was Captain America, and Lena only seemed mildly disappointed.

"Awww, okay, fine. You'd better! I need to get your score!"

"Don't worry, I won't forget," Lucy reassured her, having reined in her giddy smile a bit as the nurse was now beside the bed, looking over a chart.

The girls said goodbye, and Lucy hung up, slipping her phone back into her purse before turning to the woman beside her.

The nurse gave her a tired smile. "It's good to see that you're awake. How are you feeling?"

"Um, okay, I think," Lucy replied.

"Any pain?"

"A little, but it's not too bad."

The nurse nodded. "Very good. It will probably be a few days before it goes away completely, but you seem to be doing well so far."

Before the nurse could say anything more, Lucy spoke up again. "How long have I been here?"

"Just a few hours." She flipped to the front of the chart to verify. "Less than five. You had a concussion, and have several abrasions and a bruised spine, and a severe burn on your arm. The burn is reportedly from one of the . . . alien weapons. Is that correct?"

Lucy nodded. "Yeah." She almost cringed as she remembered the streaks of blue coming for her, and the pain as one of them ripped through her skin.

"It was a little different from a normal burn, but it seemed to react well to treatment. There might be a bit of scarring, but it should be fine." The woman sounded apologetic as she delivered the news about her arm, but tried to reassure Lucy with a kindly smile at the end.

Lucy smiled back, though it didn't feel like a very good one. Truthfully, although the idea was, naturally, off-putting at first, she didn't mind that there would be scarring. If anything, it would be a vivid reminder of the small part that she had played in the battle, alongside the man in blue. She recalled his words to her—_"You alright, soldier?"_—and her smile suddenly felt a little brighter. "It's okay, I don't mind."

The nurse seemed impressed and almost relieved at Lucy's words. Lucy could only imagine how many times the woman had received negative responses to less-than-happy news that she'd had to deliver, and she was glad to be able to give her a reason to worry a little bit less. Besides, with the attack on the city, the poor woman had probably been up to her neck in work for the last five hours. Which would explain why she looked so tired, though she was doing a good job of hiding it.

The checkup was straightforward and brief. The nurse left Lucy with the promise of something to eat, as well as the remote for the television that hung near the ceiling across the room, and Lucy, who hadn't realize how hungry she felt until the nurse had mentioned food, found herself looking forward to anything that the hospital saw fit to give her as she turned on the TV.

An insurance commercial played in the background while Lucy retrieved her phone from her purse and began to go through the rest of her messages and respond to everyone who had contacted her.

_"You were right here, on this very street? What did you see?"_ an on-location reporter was asking someone.

_"There were explosions everywhere, I thought I was gonna die,"_ a male voice carried over from the TV, _"but then Iron Man came! He flew right overhead, took out a ton of those alien things!"_

Lucy looked up from her phone to the TV, her current message forgotten.

_"I saw him, too! Iron Man's so cool! Thor, too! His powers are insane!"_ a teenage boy exclaimed. _"I wish I could be like them!"_

_"Even if it meant risking your life?"_ the reporter asked the teen.

_"I mean, if I had powers or abilities like that, it wouldn't be as dangerous, right? But yeah, they save people, and they defeated a whole army of aliens! It'd be so cool to be an Avenger."_

The streetside interviews continued. Sometimes people talked about where they were when the attack started, and how chaotic it was, but most of the talk was about the Avengers. Lucy felt strange as she listened to the people praise and gush over this newly emerged team of superheroes with glimpses of the destruction visible in the background. It was almost as if she had awakened to a new world. Seeing the aftermath of the attack on TV, when she had witnessed it firsthand, was surreal.

The camera cut to a young girl. _"Captain America was amazing! I saw him beat up a bunch of monsters with his shield—and he could jump really far!"_ Lucy's chest warmed as the girl spoke about the man with enthusiastic admiration.

As the interviewer moved on to a middle-aged woman who spoke about how much she wanted to thank the Avengers for everything that they had done, Lucy's mind drifted back to that intense battle in the street, and the man in blue saving her, protecting her with his own body and his shield. She hadn't thanked him. She had helped to fight back, but she hadn't given him her gratitude. He had helped so many people, though; she couldn't imagine that he minded her lack of direct verbal recognition, but it made her feel a little sad. _Maybe I'll see him again, someday,_ she hoped. Although, it would be nice if she didn't have to be caught up in another life-or-death situation for that to happen.

Sometime after she finished replying to messages, a tray of food arrived. She had told the nurse that she wasn't picky, and had left it up to the staff to choose what she would eat. Picking up her plastic spoon, she went straight for the strawberry Jell-O, knowing that it would be a nice appetizer for her stomach after having been in recovery mode for several hours, thanks to all of the excitement and trauma. She continued to watch the news, which was currently featuring a reiteration of the known facts about the attack and the parties involved. There wasn't too much information as of yet, but based on shaky, distant footage of Iron Man flying up toward the portal—the sight of a big, stormy-looking hole in the sky and the beam of bright light connected to it making Lucy's blood drain to her feet—carrying what appeared to be some kind of rocket, people were speculating that they had shot a missile through the portal to destroy the army. Many said that it was nuclear. Lucy didn't want to think about a nuclear missile possibly having been deployed in a major city, especially one that she was in, but if it had done the job, then it must have been necessary.

She took up her fork and dug into some kind of chicken casserole, then a medley of canned corn, green beans and carrots, eating slowly. The fruit cup she saved for last.

Night fell, and with her body still trying to heal, and the food having settled comfortably in her stomach, Lucy wasn't surprised when she felt herself getting tired enough to sleep much earlier than she was used to. She finally turned off the TV and settled back, trying not to think about being in a hospital room as she closed her eyes and waited to drift off.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

The next day passed rather slowly. Lucy was able to get up and walk around a bit, but her aches were still there, so she found the bed to be the most comfortable choice. The doctor came in to check on her in the morning, and informed her that she was slated to remain in the hospital for at least three days, as he wanted to keep an eye on her arm, which Lucy was fine with, since she would rather the professionals treat her burn while it was still raw than attempt to do so herself at home.

As soon as she found out how long her minimum amount of time in the hospital would be, she called the restaurant in which she worked, to notify them of her extended absence. Considering the state of the city at the moment, the manager was more than understanding. Apparently a few of the employees were too shaken up to think about returning to work just yet, and the owner was considering shutting down for a couple of days to let everyone off the hook, since business was, understandably, a bit slow. Lucy was told not to worry, and to get well soon, and then she hung up, feeling much better about taking a few days off. Now, all she had to do was deal with the boredom.

She kept the TV on most of the time, the ambient chatter of various programs—game shows being her favorites—filling the void of quiet and helping her to not feel so alone. The messages that she was exchanging with Lena also helped.

When Lena had to go to another class, Lucy decided to call her parents back. This time, she knew that she had to tell them what had happened. She steeled herself and began by admitting that she was in the hospital, prefacing it by assuring them that she was alright and asking them not to worry. As expected, they were quite shocked, and her mom sounded like she might cry, but more than anything, they were just relieved that their daughter had gotten out of the battle with such minor injuries, considering how many people hadn't been so fortunate. When she told them _how_ she had been injured, however, she braced herself for the inevitable worry-based anger, especially from her dad. How could she have risked herself like that? What on Earth was she thinking? But after the initial anger, she could sense something else. Something akin to pride and admiration that his daughter had gone out of her way to help save lives. He didn't want to admit this, as he intended for his displeasure to be a reminder to Lucy to never do something like that again, but her mother spoke her mind. "I love you so much, Honey. You did an amazing thing," she said, sounding a bit choked up. Lucy felt immense relief at finally getting the information off of her chest, and now she could share the news with Lena. After having weathered her parents' reactions, she wasn't so daunted by the thought of dealing with a possibly hysterical best friend, who would undoubtedly give her a good, unabashed chewing out for her actions with the alien weapon.

After Lucy hung up the call with her parents, she was left with the company of the television, and turned to browsing through various news feeds on her phone. She had never been someone to get bored very easily, so occupying herself all day wasn't too hard, but her mind kept reliving her experiences from the previous day, distracting her and making her feel a bit drained. Soon, she found herself looking at articles—and photos, and even videos—of Captain America in action, which just added another layer to her growing fatigue.

With a sigh, she put her phone on the movable tray beside the bed, keeping it easily accessible for when Lena messaged her back, then took a drink of water before turning her full attention to the TV.

Her friend replied to her text later that afternoon, and Lucy snapped up the device as soon as she heard the notification. After asking permission to call—and making sure that Lena wasn't in a very public place—she dialed her number, suddenly a bit more nervous about this conversation than she had been earlier in the day.

Naturally, Lena freaked out. In an attempt to not allow herself to be stressed, Lucy decided to see the humor in her friend's reaction, taking it in stride while keeping her eyes partially on the TV as a game-show contestant answered random trivia questions.  
Once Lena was finished with her exclamations of "Are you kidding me?!" and "What the hell were you thinking?!" and "How could you!" and "Don't ever do that again!," she calmed down a bit and said, in a somber tone, "You could have been killed, Lu. You do realize that, right? Actually _killed_."

Lucy sighed. "I know. Trust me, I know."

Then, Lena chuckled, sounding slightly exasperated. "You're crazy."

A bit relieved that the worst was over, Lucy cracked a smile. "I know."

From there, the conversation took a rather unexpected turn. But it was Lena, after all, so it would have come to this eventually. "So," she began anew, with that tone that told Lucy to prepare herself to possibly be embarrassed. "When you said you were _'pretty close'_ to Captain America, what you really meant was that you were practically all over him. Or was it the other way around?"

Sure enough, the blush crept onto Lucy's cheeks again. "Come on," she nearly groaned, "you know it wasn't like that. He saved my life."

"Yeah, yeah, I heard you. But if it were me, I wouldn't be able to stop thinking about it."

_It's not just you,_ said Lucy's mind, but rather than voicing it, she deflected with, "I thought Thor was your favorite," smiling in spite of herself.

"Hey now, since when am I restricted to fantasizing about only one hot superhero?" Her serious mock-offended tone made Lucy laugh, and Lena joined in. "Sounds like being there was kind of worth it, huh?"

"Mm . . . maybe. You still wouldn't have liked it."

"Guess I'll have to find my own opportunity to meet them," Lena replied nonchalantly. Lucy could imagine her giving a casual shrug and twirling a bit of her hair between her fingers.

"Just don't get yourself killed trying to get your hands on Thor," Lucy chuckled, trying to sound serious but in too good of a mood now to make it convincing.

They talked jovially for a little while longer, until the nurse entered the room and Lucy had to sign off. This time, she told her friend why. It was nice to be able to be open about her situation without being concerned about worrying her loved ones.

"I hope everything goes well!" Lena said. "I'm gonna get something to eat. Text you later!"

"Okay, have fun," Lucy smiled as the nurse prepared for her routine checkup.

"Bye!"

The day had definitely gotten better.

* * *

Her second night in the hospital wasn't quite as peaceful as the first. Maybe it was because she had been so tired the first night, or maybe her brain, at that time, had yet to fully process what she had been through, but this time, she dreamed. It was an intense, mostly jumbled reinterpretation of the attack, featuring the one-and-only man in blue, and Lucy was, once again, caught in the middle. She woke herself up when she felt a blue streak of light go straight through her stomach, and it took her a few long seconds to remember where she was.

It was morning again, pale light seeping into the room around the blinds. She took a few calming breaths, her heart pounding. Thankfully, the effects of the dream faded quickly, including the imaginary pain in her stomach. She lay there in the silence for a few minutes before reaching over to her phone to check for new messages. Waking up to another full day alone in the hospital, with yet another to follow, wasn't as easy to handle as she had initially thought.

Her best friend had texted her, wondering how her night had been, how the food was, whether she was sharing the room with anyone, and whether the doctor was attractive—all topics that had gone by the wayside the day before, due to Lucy's confession and their talk of superheroes. Lucy informed her friend, with a smirk, that the doctor was middle-aged and married, and Lena replied that it was no big loss, since Captain America was waiting for her once she got out of the hospital anyway. Lucy had been accustomed to Lena's brand of joking and teasing since high school, but she still felt a blush warm her skin at the outlandish thought. It was an unexpectedly pleasant way to start the day.

The nurse arrived a bit later and placed a tray of breakfast in front of her, inquiring about her condition. Lucy informed her that she felt fine—perhaps slightly better than yesterday—and the nurse took her vitals to verify before leaving her to eat her small meal.

Lucy once again turned on the television, this time settling on a travel show, whose host explored various picturesque locales and showed off luxurious or rustic accommodations and fancy or eclectic restaurants.

A little after noon, the nurse returned. It was a bit early for another visit, if Lucy was going by the previous day, and she muted the TV, looking to the woman curiously, hoping that something wasn't amiss.

"There is someone here to see you."

Lucy's brow furrowed in confusion. Who on Earth could be here? Her parents were back home in the Midwest, and Lena, of course, wasn't even in the country. No one else even knew where she was. She felt a twinge of apprehension. The nurse had not asked her whether she was okay with seeing anyone, and there was something about the woman's expression that made Lucy realize that, perhaps, the visit was not optional. The apprehension was beginning to turn into fear. Lucy hoped that it was irrational, but she really could not think of who could possibly be there to see her.

She shifted and straightening up in the bed. "Who is it?" she asked, worry written plainly on her face.

Before the nurse had a chance to reply, the door opened again, and in walked a total stranger. He was an older man with light, reddish-brown hair, and was dressed in a grey suit. At least he didn't look sketchy or thug-like, but Lucy quickly reminded herself that a suit did not mean that his profession wasn't suspicious. The fact that he was here was suspicious enough. Lucy glanced back to the nurse with concern, hoping that she wouldn't leave her alone with the strange man, but a moment later, the woman was heading out the door. It latched behind her with a solid click, leaving Lucy and her "guest" alone in the quiet room.

The man pulled a chair from the wall and positioned it a couple of meters from her bed, where he sat down. His pleasant expression did nothing to ease her fear. She prepared herself to either fight or run. Possibly both.

With a smile and a twinkle in his eye, the man spoke. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Carlisle. My name is Alexander Pierce. I hear that you were quite brave the other day." Hearing her name spoken so casually by a complete stranger who had just waltzed into her hospital room was disconcerting, to say the least. Her face must have given away her slight increase in discomfort, for he added, "No need to worry, I'm just here to talk. Actually, I'm here to make you an offer."

Lucy's internal red flag raised about a mile higher. "What kind of _offer_ . . . ?" She asked it as if she were holding him at the end of a physical ten-foot pole. Pierce merely continued to smile at her amiably, and she was unsure whether it was intended to reassure her of his true intentions or to hide them. She prayed that it was the former as she waited for him to elaborate.

"I represent S.H.I.E.L.D.—The Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division."

"Never heard of it," she snapped back defensively, her body still prepared to launch itself from the room.

"It's not exactly general knowledge," he replied, taking her response in stride. "S.H.I.E.L.D. is an agency that specializes in counter-terrorism, dealing with . . . a _wide range_ of threats, and maintaining both national and international security." When Lucy's confused and extremely skeptical expression only grew more severe, he added, "Think of us like a more global CIA," as if that would automatically convince her to trust him.

Lucy didn't know what she found more unbelievable at that moment: the alien invasion or her being approached by an alleged member of a secret agency while in the hospital recovering from said invasion. One thing she did know was that this had not been on her list of things that she'd anticipated coming out of his mouth.

After taking a few seconds to let all of the abrupt—and very unexpected—information churn around in her brain, she responded with the only thing that made any sense to her. "What do you want with me?"

Pierce gladly took the invitation to continue. "Well, after hearing about your incredible feat of bravery two days ago, S.H.I.E.L.D. didn't want it to go unrecognized. We're always looking for potential." He paused briefly, then, "We would like to offer you a job."

Lucy just stared at him with a mixture of bewilderment and disbelief, a slight frown knitting her brow. She had to have misheard him. "What?" she said lamely. Was he serious? This couldn't be real. How had he—they—even heard about her?

The man looked as if he was suppressing a chuckle. "I know how it sounds. But this is a legitimate offer."

Despite it being the most bizarre thing she had ever heard, Lucy decided to humor him—though, truthfully, she couldn't help being curious about what exactly the "offer" might entail. "What kind of job . . . ?"

"You would be trained as one of our agents. To assist where necessary; to protect people. You've certainly demonstrated your willingness to do so."

Protect people. He must have known that that would strike a chord with her. She immediately recalled the strong feeling of urgency to take action, to get help for the injured, to prevent the soldiers—and the man in blue—from being killed. She remembered what it had felt like to be unequipped and untrained in such a volatile and harrowing situation. And she imagined what it would be like to have confidence in her ability to rescue people in situations such as that. Like the Avengers. Like Captain America. Could this "S.H.I.E.L.D." really give her that opportunity?

"How do I know you are who you say you are?"

Not missing a beat, the man replied, "I'm the undersecretary for the World Security Council. You can verify." He sure had an answer prepared for everything.

Keeping her critical gaze on him, she reached for her phone and hurriedly brought up the browser, searching for an Alexander Pierce on the World Security Council. She watched as press photos of the man sitting before her, taken from various angles and in various public places, filled the search results, along with several articles regarding the council's recent activity. Lucy felt significantly better, knowing that he was telling the truth about his identity, and somehow the fact that he was a public figure was reassuring. But he was a politician—one that was involved with a secretive and supposedly very powerful agency—and that alone left a twinge of doubt in the pit of her stomach. She hoped that he might be one of the decent politicians, because, to her disbelief, a part of her was starting to give his offer some actual consideration.

Pierce wore a patient smile as he watched her confirm his identity, waiting for her to say something. After a few seconds, she broke the silence. "How do you know what I did?"

"We have our connections." His vague answer wasn't at all what Lucy had been hoping for, but it really didn't come as a surprise. However, his next words did surprise her. "I must thank you, though, for assisting Captain Rogers."

_Captain . . . Rogers?_

Her puzzled expression prompted some elaboration from Pierce. "I suppose you may only know him as Captain America. The Avengers are valuable assets of S.H.I.E.L.D."

Lucy's eyes widened. Captain America worked for S.H.I.E.L.D.? After a moment's thought, she supposed that it made sense: A team of superheroes had suddenly made themselves known to the public and turned out to be connected with an unknown agency that worked behind the scenes to combat global threats. However, the Avengers may be public knowledge, but Lena hadn't mentioned anything about S.H.I.E.L.D., nor had they been on the news, as far as Lucy had witnessed. How was she to know whether this man wasn't simply using the Avengers as a ploy to get her to accept his offer? But then, how had he known about her encounter with the man in blue if he didn't have the so-called "connections" that he claimed to have? How could she be sure that he was trustworthy? And even if he were telling the truth, would she really just up and join this secretive CIA-like agency? How did picking up an alien weapon and returning some fire on the enemy before getting knocked down and sent to the hospital make her worthy of being approached by an official from said agency and offered a job? Her head was starting to hurt, and she wasn't sure if it was the residual effects of her concussion acting up, or the confusion over the heavy situation that she now found herself in.

After the logical part of her brain had worked through everything to the best of her ability and come up empty, she could only think of one response: "I'm sorry . . . can I . . . think about it?" Her voice came out rather weak, and the lame reply seemed to fall flat on the floor between the bed and where the man sat on the chair.

Amazingly, Pierce did not appear miffed by her inability to settle on a huge life decision without any preparation or time to consider it. He merely smiled at her and stood up, straightening his jacket. "Of course. I'll be in touch." He walked toward the exit, and Lucy felt the tension beginning to ease out of her. When he reached the door, he turned back. "Oh, you've probably made this assumption yourself, but this conversation was completely confidential. I hope you understand." His expression was still pleasant, but Lucy could feel the insinuation in his statement: It would not be in her best interest to divulge anything about what had just been discussed to anyone. His grey suit disappeared through the door, and the latch clicked shut, leaving Lucy feeling drained all over again, but the fatigue was now accompanied by confusion, apprehension, fear, and a fair amount of shock.

She sat there, feeling a bit numb, staring at the wrinkles in the bedsheet as the television flashed its current brightly colored game show from across the room. For a few moments, none of it seemed real. Not the attempted invasion, nor the battle that she had involved herself in, nor the man in blue and the other newly emerged superheroes, and especially not what the undersecretary had just asked of her. But, as she had already established, everything that had happened prior to her admittance to the hospital was inescapably real, including the battle in Germany and the man named Loki, whose abilities seemed to go beyond simple superior strength and the ability to fall a full story onto a car, crush it, and walk away without sustaining serious bodily harm. If those things existed, how crazy was her being asked to join a secret counter-terrorism agency, really? Maybe she just didn't want to believe it. Maybe she just wanted to finish her stay in the hospital and go back to her steady job, her normal apartment, her easy and comfortable relationships with family and friends. What would happen with those relationships if she chose to quit her job and make training as a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent her new life? Would it be like the CIA, where she could still communicate with them, but had to keep them in the dark about practically everything about herself? Or would it be even more strict? Would she still live in the same apartment? Where was S.H.I.E.L.D. even located?

Then, there was Captain America. _Captain Rogers._ Something about the combination of those two titles began to prod at a very small place in her memory. But it was just another layer of confusion that her brain didn't need, so she pushed it aside and considered what Pierce had said. What if the blonde man really was involved with S.H.I.E.L.D.? Would she see him again if she chose to join? She mentally kicked herself for the thought, feeling as if Lena had rubbed off on her considerably if she was really going to let a man be a reason to upturn her entire life.

She sighed, holding her head in her hands before collapsing back onto her pillow. It was too much to think about, and there was no point in trying to make a decision right now, anyway. She had asked for some time, and Pierce was giving it to her. She had no idea when he would "be in touch," but it wouldn't be today. What she needed now was to just lie down and zone out in front of the TV, as if nothing in the past several minutes had even happened. Though, even as she made that her plan for the rest of the day, she knew that it wouldn't be so simple to just turn off the stressful thoughts whirling through her head.

Later, when Lena began to message her, Lucy had to resist letting slip anything about what had occurred. It was so difficult, not being able to confide in her best friend about something so monumentally strange. At least once, she considered throwing caution to the wind and telling her. I mean, what could it really hurt? Lena was just one girl in Germany, having a chat with her friend through their phones. But the thought barely entered Lucy's mind before she dismissed it. Pierce would probably find out somehow. So instead they talked about lighthearted things, and Lena semi-gushed about the Avengers—primarily Thor. It was a welcome addition to Lucy's day, though not nearly distracting enough to keep her mind off of her new source of concern. Talking to her friend was usually an escape, but not quite so much now that she was again hiding something from her. Something that she really, really needed to talk about.

At last, night fell. She turned in early, eager to finally escape from consciousness.


	5. Chapter 5

**Note:** The piece of music that I listened to while I wrote the end of this chapter is "The Smithsonian" from the 'Winter Soldier' score.

* * *

**Chapter 5**

_'Holy crap, have you seen these?'_

Lucy stared at her phone, pausing by her hospital bed after finally putting on her own clothes again, to read the new incoming messages from Lena. Links to several videos from a website called Rising Tide appeared in the chat. Lucy clicked on the first one curiously. Lena wasn't in the habit of sending her random links, and judging by how excited she seemed to be, Lucy didn't really know what to prepare herself for. The name of the site was definitely intriguing.

As soon as the first video clip loaded, Lucy took a seat on the edge of her bed. It was a nighttime shot of several objects flying low and very fast over stationary cars beneath an overpass. The title read, _Footage from Stark Expo Attacks._ She remembered that incident. It was all over the news.

She clicked on the next link.

When her eyes caught the title, she froze, and the blood drained from her body. _S.H.I.E.L.D. Evidence Caught on Tape!_ She unconsciously leapt to her feet, adrenaline coursing through her. It felt like she couldn't hit play fast enough.

Two people in full-body HazMat suits, complete with gas masks, were standing at some sort of crime scene, surrounded by a few other people, two of whom appeared to be part of the same team. The first was wearing her own suit, but had it peeled down to her waist, and the second was in what looked like a grey version of what the others were wearing. The latter seemed to be helping one of the gas-masked people with their gear. She wasn't wearing a mask, but before the camera could catch sight of her face, the screen zoomed in to focus on a grey patch on the other full-suited person's leg. Lucy's heart pounded in her ears, her blood ice-cold as she read the black lettering on the patch:

S.H.I.E.L.D.  
FIELD OP  
TRU-18761/3

An emblem of an eagle with its wings spread preceded the text.

Lucy paused the video, staring unblinkingly at the screen, the bold acronym staring right back at her. They were real. S.H.I.E.L.D. did exist. Lucy's mind began to race. She couldn't tell if she was excited or starting to panic. Snapping out of her trance, she closed out the video and went to message Lena back.

_'Where did you find these?!'_ she asked.

_'It's all over the internet! And it was on the news. Apparently this organization called S.H.I.E.L.D. has been doing all this stuff in secret for a long time! I guess they're related to the Avengers or something.'_

This was it. Lucy had proof. Pierce hadn't been lying. And now she had a decision to make. But as she was faced with the concrete reality of the outlandish offer that the undersecretary had made her, the choice felt even more daunting than it had before.

* * *

As Lucy finally walked out of the hospital, with nothing but her purse, the clothes on her back, and a bandaged arm, she did not feel nearly as relieved as she had anticipated. Not at all. She couldn't even look forward to returning to daily life, what with the obligation of having to give Pierce an answer looming over her every thought.

Until now, she hadn't seen the streets of New York in person since the attack. There were already some signs of repairs and rebuilding, but for the most part, everything looked much like it had when she had last seen it four days ago. It seemed like so much longer than just four days.

She was forced to take a different route home, and as she went, a horrible realization came over her: What if her apartment building had been damaged? Or even destroyed, like many others had been? Her steps quickened, eager to have the burning question in her mind answered, but at the same time, she wanted to put it off for as long as possible.

She passed many buildings with temporarily patched-up windows and chunks of their facades missing, growing more nervous by the second. At last, she turned down her street. With a pounding heart, she prepared herself for the worst. There, several buildings down, miraculously intact, stood her apartment. The relief left her feeling lightheaded, and now her pace carried her forward not out of fear, but due to the fact that she would finally be home after such a grueling few days.

Everything seemed normal as she stepped through the building's familiar entrance and climbed the old flights of stairs to the third floor. Her key slipped easily into the lock on her door, and she entered into her small kitchen. Nothing had changed in the living space. It was rather surreal, since she herself felt so different.

She closed and locked the door, then moved into the living room, not bothering to turn on any lights to supplement the sparse daylight streaming in through the partially open blinds, and tossed her purse onto the nearest couch cushion. Standing there silently for a few moments, she debated whether to finally take a shower and change into fresh clothes, or to simply collapse onto her comfortable couch. Ultimately she decided on the latter. After slipping off her shoes, she laid back against the grey cushions, letting the tiredness from her walk and the continued mental fatigue have their way with her for now.

After twenty minutes of trying in vain to quiet her mind properly while her body attempted to relax, she gave up and headed for her bedroom.

With a fresh set of clothes in hand, she took a much-overdue shower—though a bit awkwardly as she tried to avoid getting water on her bandaged arm—and emerged from the bathroom more than half an hour later, scrubbing her hair with a towel. In her comfortable T-shirt and loose-fitting pants, she padded across the hardwood floor with bare feet to the entertainment center, where she perused her music collection. She had contemporary rock and some pop, and plenty of film and Broadway soundtracks, but her hand went straight for the jazz section. After some brief consideration, she pulled out one of her Frank Sinatra collections.

She hit play and made her way to the kitchen. _Come Fly with Me_ began, and the classic crooner's voice filled the apartment. Immediately Lucy felt as if a weight were being removed from her, like she could breathe a little easier. This was her happy place. With her spirits lifting, she moved about the kitchen, preparing herself something to eat, glad that she was done with the hospital food, even though it hadn't been as bad as she had anticipated. She found herself singing along, off and on, to the song which she had practically grown up with. It always achieved its supposed goal of making her feel as if she were about to head off to some adventurous, sunny vacation destination. When the screaming brass crescendoed at the end, she belted out the final line with Frank—"Pack up, let's fly away!"—while dancing slightly and grinning to herself. She finished pouring herself a glass of ice water and checked the oven timer before returning to the couch to wait out part of the cooking time for her beer-battered chicken.

_I've Got You Under My Skin_ kept her company as she checked her messages, finding one from Lena asking whether she had gotten home alright. She replied in the affirmative, and told her that nothing was amiss. As she checked for any important posts on social media, the lyrics of the song subconsciously caught her attention: _"Don't you know, little fool? You never can win. Use your mentality, wake up to reality."_ An internal sardonic smile almost touch her face. It was like Frank knew about her current situation. The nervous energy in the pit of her stomach returned and threatened to ruin her pleasant personal time, but she wouldn't let it. She pushed it down and let the rest of the song overwrite the nerves. She knew that she would have to face the situation soon, but not right now. After all, she had just gotten home. Surely Pierce would understand that she would need a little more than just a day or two; there's no way that he would come asking for an answer so soon—

Her blood ran cold as the terrible thought occurred to her: Would he come there? To her apartment? Did he know where she lived? _Of course he does,_ she thought bitterly. _Why wouldn't he? He has "connections," after all. If he could find me at the hospital, he can find me here._ She felt a bit ill with dread, but what was the point of letting it effect her prematurely? This entire situation, at least until she gave her answer, was beyond her control. All she could control right now was the lovely music and the food that she was about to eat. And she was going to enjoy both.

During the remaining wait time, she called her parents and let them know that she was home, and that her arm was doing well; she just had to go easy on it for a little longer. She had previously notified them of her projected release day, so they had been anticipating her call. Talking to them felt good, but again, it was painful to not be able to confide in her loved ones about the issue with Pierce and S.H.I.E.L.D.

At last, the oven timer sounded. She ate the chicken with a side of fruit salad—a good late lunch—to an accompaniment of Frank's _Blue Moon,_ the combination of which cheered her up a good deal after the recurring thoughts of her impending choice and how alone she felt. The lyrics may have occasionally nudged at a portion of those thoughts, but she found the melody to be uplifting. Then, _Nice 'n' Easy_ came on, and her improved mood got even better. She found herself bobbing her head in time with the music, and smiling pleasantly around a mouthful of watermelon.

Frank spoke in a catchy rhythm into the microphone, _"Like the man says, one more time—"_ and Lucy couldn't resist singing the last lines along with him: "Nice 'n' easy does it— Nice 'n' easy does it— Nice 'n' easy does it every time."

She then took the final bite of her chicken before getting up to return her plate to the kitchen and refill her glass of water.

The rest of the day saw her lounging on the couch with a book, periodically exchanging messages with her best friend, and a couple of others who were curious about how things were in post-alien-invasion New York. There wasn't much that she could tell them regarding that subject, at least nothing that would satisfy their desire for some kind of juicy story. As far she knew, the city wasn't suddenly full of superheroes on full public display.

She turned another page of her book as _One More for My Baby (And One More for the Road)_ started to play in the background. She imagined that she was in an old bar in the '40s, just before closing, the bartender cleaning glasses while she finished her drink, the two of them sharing a calm, mutual silence while a lone pianist tinkered on the keys at the back of the room. The song was sad, yet not really—and beautiful; sentimental. The musicality and poetic lyrics always got to her, and the way that Frank sang them depicted so perfectly the feelings of his character in the song. She could even feel the smoky haze hanging in the old bar. It was a calming song, and almost made her cry as she lay against the couch cushions in the gentle pool of light from the lamp on the side table.

As her thoughts began to drift further, they inevitably turned to the issue at hand: S.H.I.E.L.D. She supposed that it was time to stop delaying such thoughts, no matter how much she felt like she wouldn't be able to come up with a proper decision on her own. Then, Captain America's—Captain Rogers' face appeared in her mind's eye. A slight frown creased her brow as she recalled the name that Pierce had dropped. She couldn't put a finger on why it was so familiar. Rogers. Captain America . . . She closed her book and grabbed her phone, typing both names into an online search.

Her eyes widened as she stared at the results. Images of newspaper clippings featuring old black-and-white photos decorated the screen. She bolted upright and scrolled down, reading the headline of the first article: _Captain America Returns! Steve Rogers Copycat, Or The Star-Spangled Man Himself?!_ The next article proclaimed, _Impossible Return Of Wartime Hero?!_

It didn't take long for her to remember why the name Rogers had jogged her memory. When she was little, her grandfather had told her and her cousins stories about some of his time in the army, fighting overseas during World War II, and he had mentioned the symbol of patriotism and victory that had been a major part of the war effort on both the home front and in combat: Captain America. A chill ran through her as she wondered how on Earth she had forgotten. She scrolled back up to the photos and clicked on one. It enlarged, filling the screen, and she found herself staring at the face of the man who had saved her life only four days ago, looking no different now than he had in 1943.

"How is that even possible?" she breathed. It couldn't be the same person; there was no way. She scrutinized the photo, comparing it to her memories of the blonde man's unmasked face, directly in front of her, written with concern and intense determination, and she questioned and questioned over and over. But despite her attempts to reason with herself, the man in the photo was, without a doubt, the same Captain America who had fought off all of those aliens right before her eyes.

_"You alright, soldier?"_

His words echoed in her mind once again, and she shook her head minutely in disbelief. What was the world coming to? Magical powers, aliens, portals, superheroes, and now a man who hadn't aged in over sixty years. When she considered everything together, she supposed that this newest impossible revelation shouldn't seem so impossible.

Once the initial shock had passed, Lucy copied some of the photos and sent them to her friend, along with a brief summary of what she had just recalled about the captain.

Lena replied rather quickly, exclaiming her disbelief and excitement at the news. Apparently she hadn't heard any of the speculation about the reemerged Captain America's identity, or anything about the original Captain from the '40s, as she hadn't bothered to delve any deeper than a few popular photos and videos of the recent battle. She quickly moved on to how handsome the man was, and expressed her jealousy that Lucy had gotten to see him in person.

_'He's definitely a ten out of ten!'_ Lena wrote, accompanying it with a winking face.

_'Agreed,'_ Lucy typed back, chuckling at the reference to their past conversation. It was then that she registered the current tune carrying on through the apartment—_Night and Day_—and realized how surreal this situation was. To be sitting there, listening to the kind of music that would have been mainstream so many decades ago, as she stared at photos of a man who probably would have heard many of these songs, sung by both Sinatra and others, in the early stages of his life—a man whom she had just met, who looked identical to his 1940s self. She didn't know how to wrap her head around it, and she suddenly had the strong desire to talk to him, to ask him what it was like to have experienced two time periods nearly a hundred years apart. He must have seen so much in all that time—

Then, another memory pricked at the back of her mind. With a slight frown of concentration, she ran another search, quickly finding what she was after.

_. . . the captain's aircraft went down somewhere in the Arctic, and he was henceforth presumed dead. The war brought an end to many a great man, but there was no other like Captain America, who led so many of his fellow soldiers into battle and played an instrumental role in bringing the Allies to victory. His sacrifice will never be forgotten, and Captain Steven Grant Rogers will forever be known as one of the greatest heroes in history._

Lucy's chest tightened, and a lump formed in the back of her throat. She stared at the text, a combination of shock, bewilderment and awe overcoming her. Now she remembered: Her grandfather had recalled the war hero with fond admiration, but there had been something misty in his expression when he had mentioned the captain's final mission, an expression that hadn't quite escaped the notice of Lucy's young self. At the time, she just hadn't thought to inquire any more deeply into the subject. Now, looking back on her recent memory of the heroic man's face as he'd stood in front of her, battle-worn and ready to put himself in the line of fire for a stranger, she could imagine how he must have fought all those decades ago, against an enemy that, at the time, must have seemed impossible to overcome. He had given his everything for the sake of everyone else, with no hope of returning. But then he had. Somehow, he had come back. He was here, in this modern world that was so completely changed from what he knew. And he was still fighting.

Lucy was no longer paying attention to the music. Her hand holding her phone rested numbly in her lap as she stared at the floor. A heavy sense of loss came over her, and her vision grew hazy. Before she could blink away the threatening tears, one fell, trailing down her cheek and landing on the aged, sepia-toned image of the young blonde-haired man displayed on the glowing screen of her cellphone.

* * *

**This was an especially fun chapter to work on. Gotta love Frank~ ^^ Also, I very rarely cry while writing, but that last part really did it for me. (Probably mostly due to the music...)**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

"Will that be all?"

The woman in the booth nodded.

"Okay, I'll be right back with that for you." Lucy departed with a smile, tearing off the ticket on her way to the kitchen.

It felt good to be back at Sam's, even though it hadn't quite been a week since she had last waited tables. The restaurant had reopened three days after the attack, and business seemed decent thus far, though compared to how it had been before, it was relatively slow. Lucy had mixed feelings about that. For one thing, she wished that her mind could be kept a little busier, to prevent unwelcome thoughts, but on the other hand, she knew that those unwelcome thoughts still needed to be given attention. She had spent that previous night, after making the discovery about Captain America's true identity, giving serious consideration to Pierce's offer. She had weighed the possible positives and negatives of joining S.H.I.E.L.D.—multiple times—but she felt that she didn't quite have enough information about what she would be getting herself into to make a proper decision. Still, she didn't want to simply tell Pierce "I don't know" whenever he contacted her again. Thus, she was left in a state of frustration and worry as she went about what should have been a normal, rather uneventful day, feeling as though she had to look over her shoulder constantly to prepare herself for another meeting with the undersecretary.

She brought the woman and her daughter their fish and shrimp baskets, then went to greet a new table of guests who had just seated themselves.

As she waited for the next order to be ready for pickup, she worked at wiping down a couple of tables whose occupants had recently left. While she did so, she couldn't help but overhear the talk from the newly seated customers.

"They were _right_ there—I thought we were all done for," a woman was saying. "But then Black Widow and Hawkeye showed up and got us out! It was terrifying, all the shooting, but if it weren't for them, we wouldn't have made it."

"Holy crap . . ." breathed another woman. "Thank God for people like them."

"What kind of powers do they have?" asked a young man.

"Not sure."

"I don't think they have any. At least, not that I've heard."

"Wow . . . I mean, I know the army went in there with only guns, but aren't Black Widow and Hawkeye part of The Avengers? Aren't they supposed to be superheroes?"

"Yeah, you're right . . ."

"But have you heard of S.H.I.E.L.D.?" said the first woman, and Lucy's hearing suddenly sharpened. "They probably have special training."

"Yeah, probably," the man concurred. "No wonder they were so badass."

The conversation continued, but Lucy was still stuck on the so-called Hawkeye and Black Widow. She hadn't looked into many specifics about The Avengers herself, so she was unfamiliar with those two, but the thought that there were non-powered heroes on the team was surprising, and intriguing. Obviously, Tony Stark didn't have literal super powers, but he sure seemed like he did. How would a normal person with just some "special training" be included on a team like The Avengers with Iron Man, Captain America, Thor, and what people were calling The Hulk? How would they measure up and hold their own? But then, who could say what kinds of people S.H.I.E.L.D. recruited? Even if Black Widow and Hawkeye were normal, they probably weren't. Of course, Lucy was normal—very, painfully normal—and Pierce was trying to recruit her. If bravery was a standard requirement, then there were plenty of people more worthy of being invited into the agency than she was.

Realizing that she had paused in her process of cleaning a table, Lucy shook the thoughts from her mind and finished the task at hand, before the bell sounded from the kitchen, signalling that an order was ready for pickup.

With the evening and the arrival of dinnertime came a decent number of customers, which Lucy was happy about, as it not only meant that her mind was too busy to dwell heavily on her dilemmas, but also more tips in her pocket. Finally, the last family cleared out, and the only tables that remained occupied were a couple of two-seaters, one filled by a nice older couple, and the other taken by a businessman who was still enjoying his beer.

Lucy was actively clearing the last family's dishes when she heard the front door open. The new arrival was cutting it a bit close, as the restaurant was only open for another hour, but this happened from time to time. It seemed that some people just had late-night cravings for seafood and didn't feel like getting something from a convenience store and making it at home. But business was business, and tips were tips.

After dropping off the dirty dishes in the kitchen, Lucy returned to the main room, withdrawing her pen and pad as she wove her way around to a booth in the back corner, where the man had seated himself. She stopped short, her blood running cold when she laid eyes on the familiar reddish-brown hair. The man was wearing thick-rimmed black glasses, and a casual jacket and khakis instead of his grey suit, but it was unmistakably Alexander Pierce. His eyes fell on her before she had the chance to turn on her heel and escape. Now that he'd seen her, she had no choice. She took each remaining step to the booth a bit tentatively. The time had come. A couple of days wasn't nearly enough time for her, but he apparently needed an answer.

She stopped beside the table, her insides constricting. Pierce regarded her with a neutral expression.

"Have you thought it over?"

She wanted to say "yes," but such an answer would suggest that she had come to a conclusion, and she definitely hadn't. _Just say no,_ she told herself. It was the simplest way out of this. All she had to do was decline the offer and go about her normal, familiar, comfortable life. That would be it. But is that what she really wanted? She had played this game with herself several times: accepting the offer in her mind, pretending that she had really done it, and seeing how it made her feel, then doing the opposite and declining. It was a technique that had helped her to make tough decisions her whole life. Now, as Pierce sat there, waiting for a response, she was doing it again, praying that it would work now that she was under the pressure of the man's political gaze and the unexpected arrival of her deadline. But another part of her mind was trying to think of ways to stall.

The man didn't force her to speak, but merely watched her calmly as the gears spun wildly in her brain.

A few seconds later, she finally broke the silence, deciding to start with a basic concern. "Where would I have to live?"

Pierce shifted in his seat, just slightly, considering her question for a moment. His tone was subdued when he answered. "There are multiple S.H.I.E.L.D. facilities, but you would be at our training facility, first and foremost. For that, you would have to leave the city, but not the country."

Another vague response. She shouldn't have expected anything more. Naturally, details about the department's locations were probably classified. But couldn't he have at least given her a state?

She inquired about her next major point of contention. "Would I . . . get to see my family again?" Her voice hitched as she formed the sentence, and she held her breath for the answer.

"Of course." Pierce gave her soft smile. "Maybe not while you're in training, but it wouldn't be forbidden."

Relief flooded her system, and she immediately felt lighter, practically all of her worries gone in an instant.

"There are confidentiality agreements that you will have to adhere to, of course," he added.

"Of course," Lucy agreed with a nod, feeling as though she could finally communicate properly again.

"So, is that a yes?"

Was it? Did she want to give up her steady waitressing job and her comfortable little apartment for an unknown life at what might turn out to be a glorified military boot camp? Or did she want to remain where she was, doing what she knew, and give up a chance at being something more, _doing_ something more—really being able to make a difference in some large capacity? She recalled the testimonials of all those people that The Avengers had saved, then remembered that she was one of those people. She owed her life to Captain America. Could she ever repay that debt, in any capacity, by waiting tables?

"Yes."

The answer had come out almost involuntarily. Her stomach dropped.

What was she doing?

Pierce's smile widened just enough to display his satisfaction. "Excellent. I'm glad to hear it." He made to stand up, and Lucy, still feeling a bit shellshocked, took a couple of steps back to give him room. "Can you be ready in a week?" he asked. Then, he added, "Don't worry about your apartment, it will be taken care of until your things are moved to your new location. Just pack what you can carry for now."

Lucy just stood there, listening to his businesslike delivery of the information regarding how her life was about to change, and trying not to second-guess her decision.

"A car will be sent for you a week from today."

She merely nodded her understanding, not trusting herself to speak at the moment.

Pierce gave her a succinct nod in return. "Until next time, Miss Carlisle. And good luck." Then, he walked past her, his footsteps seeming louder than normal in the nearly empty restaurant. Lucy heard the door open, and turned to look just in time to see it swing closed behind him.

With the pen and pad still clutched pointlessly in her hands, her eyes returned to the room. The warm glow of the lights washed over the earthen tones of the decor. The lingering aromas of fish, garlic and french fries hung in the air. Everything was so familiar. Yet everything felt different now. She only had one week before she wouldn't be seeing this place anymore. She'd been working there for a few months, but she hadn't expected to grow so attached to it. Perhaps if her departure weren't so sudden, and the circumstances weren't so unbelievable, it wouldn't feel this strange. She would have to give notice of her resignation as soon as possible, she realized, and mentally chastised herself for giving up a perfectly good job for the sake of something that she knew almost nothing about. What if she couldn't cut it? What if she wasn't what they wanted? What if they kicked her out? Or what if she changed her mind, but they wouldn't let her leave?

She shoved the paranoid thoughts aside. Now wasn't the time. She had made her choice, and it was too soon to tell whether it was right or wrong. She wasn't even out of the city yet. Right now, it was time to finish her shift. Then she would go home and get some much-needed sleep—if she could. At least her thoughts wouldn't be plagued with indecision tonight. 

* * *

The train was only relatively crowded, which Lucy always appreciated, but this time it meant that she could avoid accidentally rubbing her still-sore arm up against someone. She sat comfortably in one of the seats, against a window, her eyes absently wandering between the urban landscape bathed in midday sunlight beyond the glass and the usual eclectic group of passengers stationed throughout the car. Her thoughts were primarily occupied with everything that she still had to do to prepare to leave the city in less than a week, so it took her a few moments to realize that one of the passengers sitting near the doors seemed to be looking directly at her. His eyes were hidden behind a pair of dark aviators, a baseball cap obscuring the top of his head, but the direction of his gaze was confirmed as soon as she focused on him, for he immediately turned toward one of the windows instead. Lucy didn't particularly mind that someone had been casually watching her on a train—especially since she had been doing the same thing herself. Nevertheless, her pulse quickened ever so slightly as she continued to observe the man's profile, a small frown of concentration forming on her face. Something about him was strangely familiar, she just couldn't place it.

The train slowed and came to a gradual stop at the station, and the man stood up. The pang of recognition stabbed at Lucy's brain again, and as he walked to the door—the sharp angle of his nose with those lips now combined with his impressive physique, leather-jacket-clad shoulders and all—everything clicked into place. Her heart skipped, and she was out of her seat, about to go after him, when he disappeared through the open door, into the crowd waiting on the platform, and she froze, realizing that this wasn't her stop.

Slowly she lowered herself back into the seat, part of her trying to convince another, more hopeful part, that she was being ridiculous, that she had been seeing things—that it wasn't Steve Rogers she had just encountered on the train. But the hopeful part of her didn't believe that for a second.

The brief encounter, despite there having been no real contact with the man, and no real proof that he was indeed Captain Rogers, had given Lucy a nice boost to start her shift. However, the more she thought about it, a fresh worry crept into her mind. If he was living in New York, she might have another opportunity to see him—to thank him properly. But not if she didn't run into him before being shipped out to S.H.I.E.L.D.'s secret training facility. Wouldn't that just figure? To give up a stable life for the purpose of becoming someone who could help make a difference in the world, partly as a kind of tribute to the man who had saved her life, only, in doing so, actually leave behind a potential opportunity to express her gratitude to that man directly. She sighed. No; she had made her decision, and she was going to go through with it. After all, Captain America wasn't her only motivation for choosing S.H.I.E.L.D. In the wake of Pierce showing up at the restaurant two days ago, she had done much self-examination, and although her answer had felt involuntary and rash at the time, she had since found that it reflected her innermost desire to make something important of herself. A desire that she had had long before the Battle of New York. This realization had bolstered her significantly, and her apprehension and worry that she had made the wrong choice had become nonexistent. The first inkling of regret that had reared its head in almost an entire day was due to the man on the train. But she wouldn't let it discourage her.

The day went smoothly. More people seemed to be getting back into the swing of their daily lives after the upheaval of the week before, so the restaurant's business was steadily increasing. With the return of the full waitstaff, Lucy found herself in frequent conversations with a few of the other girls, on breaks or during lulls in service. She had given the manager notice of her resignation the previous day, and had gradually been informing her coworkers of her approaching absence. Their reactions ranged from mildly taken aback to shocked to disappointed, but all of them had asked her why she was leaving so suddenly, to which she replied that she had gotten another job and that it paid well, but that she had to snap it up quickly. When asked what the new position was, however, Lucy was forced to be creative. She kept it vague. Her fellow staff members were now under the impression that she was joining some kind of security company, the name of which couldn't be divulged, in order to prevent security leaks before her standing within the company was finalized. Lucy had no idea how companies like that even worked, but she suspected that that wasn't it. Still, her offhanded excuse seemed to be convincing, and she wasn't pressed for details.

Her parents and Lena had reacted similarly when she'd spoken with them, but although they had respected her decision to not divulge too much information, hearing how thrown her Mom and Dad had seemed by her strange and sudden life choice was difficult. She was glad that they trusted her, but she hated to make them worry, and this was a very different kind of situation than the hospital. At least they had known what to expect with her injuries and her stay there. This time, their daughter was taking on a new line of work in an unknown location, for an unknown period of time, so the worry was bound to be long-term. Lena had had her predictable reaction: slight begging of her friend to tell her everything, then begrudging acceptance, on the basis that Lucy wouldn't keep it a secret forever. Lucy hoped that that wouldn't end up being required.

Of course, she had told her loved ones more than her coworkers, such as the fact that she would be moving out of the city, so that her parents and best friend wouldn't send anything to her old apartment. However, one of the waitresses whom Lucy got along with the best, Cindy, had managed to get out of her that particular bit of information, and had subsequently planned a night out to commemorate the end of their time together.

A couple of days later, Lucy and four of the other girls left the restaurant after closing time, making their way down the sidewalk and into the New York nightlife. As Lucy wasn't yet twenty, she was still a ways off from being able to join the other girls in cocktails, so, upon her insistence that she wouldn't sneak into Cindy's favorite club, Cindy chose an under-twenty-one bar, where the nineteen-year-old could still enjoy a festive atmosphere and some interesting food and drink.

The small group of coworkers talked and laughed for almost three hours, and though it was getting late, Lucy didn't want it to end. But she had to work the following day, and with her departure fast approaching, she felt the need to do her best to get a decent amount of sleep between now and then, rather than squandering her time and energy socializing.

The girls bid each other farewell, a couple of them planning to stay a little longer at the bar, and Lucy decided to hail a cab.

She arrived back home feeling pleasantly exhausted from the busy day, the ever-present nervous energy about her impending move dulled somewhat in the aftermath of her night out. She retired to bed as soon as she had changed into something more comfortable, and sleep came more easily than she was used to as of late. 

* * *

The sun beamed in through the partially open blinds, casting a series of long, narrow shadows across the bedroom floor. Lucy stood beside the bed, having just zipped up her suitcase, and took one last look around the room. Then, she grabbed her purse, the stuffed backpack and the suitcase, determined to not linger long enough for her mood to decline, and walked out. She passed through the living room, where most of her movie and music collections remained on their shelves, then the kitchen, which had been cleaned out of uneaten food, and stopped at the front door. She swung the door open and dropped her bags into the hallway before turning back to look at the apartment that had been her home for so many months. She couldn't believe that she was actually doing this. Repressing a sigh, she focused her thoughts on what was to come. From this point on, she would have to shift gears dramatically. Ever since she had moved to New York, she had known that this wouldn't be her life forever, but she hadn't expected it to be cut so short, so abruptly. But it had, and it was time to move on. She couldn't afford to cling to this stage of her life.

Making sure the door was locked, she stepped out and pulled it shut behind her, then took up her bags and made her way downstairs to a black SUV waiting at the curb.

A tall, bald, dark-skinned man, dressed all in black, got out of the driver's side when Lucy approached. His ominous look was complete with a long black-leather coat and an eyepatch. When she had first seen him upon his arrival at her apartment only twenty minutes earlier, she had been taken aback, to say the least, but there was no question in her mind that he fit the bill of someone involved with a secret agency such as S.H.I.E.L.D. Or rather, in his specific case, someone _in charge_ of such an agency. He had introduced himself as Nick Fury, the director of S.H.I.E.L.D., surprising Lucy further, and she wondered if he always personally escorted their new recruits.

He opened the back door, and she tossed her luggage inside, before getting into the back seat with them. Fury took his place behind the wheel, and they were off. Normally, in a situation like this, she would struggle over whether or not to say something to break up the awkward silence, but the man's stoic demeanor made the choice for her. She remained quiet, watching the city pass by, letting it really sink in that she was now on her way to a new life.

"As I understand it, you fought the Chitauri during the invasion." Fury's sudden disruption of the silence caught Lucy off guard, and her eyes snapped to him. The strange word that he had used was unfamiliar to her, but she assumed that he was referring to the aliens.

"A little . . . I used one of their guns, but I couldn't do much."

"Impressive. It's a miracle you survived."

Lucy hesitated briefly before replying. "Captain America was there. I owe that to him."

There was a moment of silence. "Well, you must have some potential, or you wouldn't be here."

She appreciated his vote of confidence, but she would still love to know why Pierce had singled her out specifically. Maybe it was just happenstance. Maybe it could have been someone else. Then, a new thought occurred to her. Maybe she wasn't the only recruit. There could very well be others. That made her feel better. It wouldn't be as strange if she were one among many. She supposed that she would find out once training began.

The drive seemed lengthy, but at the same time, when they pulled into the small airport, it felt like they had arrived in practically no time at all. Fury brought the car around to the tarmac, and Lucy grabbed her bags, preparing to get out and start the next leg of her journey.

Her feet hit the pavement, and she closed the door behind her, taking a look around, in search of their plane. The hangar door was closed, and the tarmac was devoid of any means of transportation aside from the SUV. Confused as to why their ride wasn't waiting for them, Lucy turned toward the hangar, but then stopped. Fury was striding in the opposite direction, toward the center of the empty expanse of pavement.

"You comin'?" he barked, without looking back.

Lucy sprang into action, despite her apprehension and utter bewilderment.

Suddenly, there was an abrupt mechanical noise, and something appeared in midair. A dark line formed and quickly grew into a rectangle, which extended downward, growing nearer to the ground with each second. Lucy's steps faltered as she stared in awe, her brain trying to piece together what she was seeing. Then, it dawned on her that she was looking into some kind of opening—a hatch. The interior was clearly made of metal, and as she drew closer, she noticed that the air around it looked a bit displaced—uneven. She blinked, scrutinizing it closely, and realized that she was looking at the hull of an aircraft, disguised to reflect the sky and surrounding landscape. At the same moment, she saw that Fury had almost disappeared into the plane—or whatever it was—and she hurried to catch up.

She stepped onto the hatch ramp and climbed, the nervous twisting of her stomach now feeling closer to excited anticipation. She hadn't known exactly what to expect, but such impressive technology seemed incredibly appropriate for a secret agency that handled superheroes. Whatever she had gotten herself into, she had a feeling that it would turn out to be even more intense than what she'd been anticipating.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Lucy's eyes scanned the interior of the aircraft. In terms of its general layout, it was similar to military transports that she had seen in movies and documentaries, but the design was ultra-modern industrial, and, considering its phenomenal cloaking abilities, she didn't need a detailed tour to guess how packed it must be with other advanced technology.

As the hatch closed behind her, Fury paused beside one of the pilots' chairs, and Lucy noticed that someone else was seated in the other, her bright red hair a striking contrast to the steely grey of the decor.

"Lucy Carlisle," the director addressed her before nodding at the other woman, "Natasha Romanoff."

Natasha looked over her shoulder at Lucy. "Hey."

"Hi," Lucy replied, and with her habitual politeness, she added, "nice to meet you."

"Likewise."

"Take a seat, Carlisle," Fury instructed, and Lucy immediately complied, dropping into the nearest chair and letting her bags fall to the floor at her sides. While she figured out the seat belt, she heard the clicking of switches and buttons as the aircraft was prepared for takeoff, and the engine hummed. As soon as the belt was fastened, she looked up to see Natasha finishing some adjustments before placing both hands securely on the controls. Her stomach dropped as she felt the craft begin to rise, and soon, all that she could see through the cockpit's window was sky.

Even though it wasn't her first time flying, it felt different than a conventional airplane. That, coupled with the uncertainty of where she would end up, meant that it took a few minutes for her to start to relax. Unsure of how long it would be before they arrived at the facility, she spent much of the duration of the flight in her comfortable habit of trying to calm her nerves and mentally prepare herself for what was to come. But soon she realized that it was useless, as the anxiety wasn't likely to go away until they had at least reached their destination. So, she changed gears and focused on completely unrelated things: Lena and what she might be up to in Germany, all of the interesting shops and eateries that they had visited when Lucy had been there—Loki, facing down the crowd with that imperious smile and those twinkling eyes, the deadly scepter clutched in his hand—

She shook herself mentally, pushing the unpleasant memory aside, and steered her thoughts elsewhere: her parents; home-cooked dinners; enjoying a glass of lemonade in the summertime while lounging on the couch watching Houseboat on the old TV, a gentle oscillating fan circulating the fresh air from the open windows; her dad teaching her to shoot the BB gun at a homemade target comprised of paper and a cardboard box—firing the Chitauri gun at the aliens; the white-hot pain in her arm; Captain America's concerned expression as he hovered over her—

Suddenly, the aircraft slowed a fraction before banking in a tight arc. All prior thoughts were wiped from the forefront of Lucy's mind, and she gripped the seat of her chair as the craft descended.

They touched down, and Natasha killed the engine and lowered the ramp. Fury was on his feet and striding past Lucy to the door before she had finished taking off her seat belt. She grabbed up her bags, trying to quell the nervous churning of her stomach, and hurried to keep up with the tall, authoritative man.

She stared in awe—and slight intimidation—at the sleek, expansive building before her. This was it: her new life. Her footsteps slowed as she took it all in, but it wasn't long before she noticed how far ahead Fury was, so she snapped out of it and dutifully followed, not caring to make herself come across as someone incapable of even staying on track.

She had imagined this moment, to some degree, ever since Pierce had made his initial proposal. But walking through the doors of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s training facility, the magnitude and gravity of what she was now facing were becoming more concrete than ever. She gazed up at the lobby's high ceiling, taking in the industrial color scheme and the accents of metal and glass, and from the floor, beneath her feet, the proud, noble eagle of the agency's logo welcomed her.

The director came to a stop and turned to face her. It was then that she heard another set of footsteps at the entrance, and she looked back to see Natasha crossing the lobby to meet them. Without a word, the redhead gave Fury a nod, and the man walked away, heading deeper into the facility.

"Come on, kid," Natasha instructed, and took the lead. Lucy didn't care for being called "kid," since she hadn't felt like one in years, but she supposed that she still was, in a way. And despite those months of experience that she'd had living by herself in a huge city far from home, she couldn't help but feel slightly out of her depth here. It was like her time had been rewound and she was suddenly fourteen again, attending morning classes at the high school for the first time. Only this was much more daunting.

Lucy kept pace with Natasha, the sound of her suitcase's wheels on the smooth floor of the halls feeling somewhat disruptive. She self-consciously adjusted the backpack on her shoulder, the strap of her purse clutched in the hand gripping the suitcase handle. She felt like an awkward tourist with a very quiet, uninformative tour guide.

Natasha led her to an elevator, which they rode up a few levels. Lucy then continued to follow the woman through a series of halls, trying to pick up as many details about the new environment as she could, making mental notes about the layout. Finally, they came to a series of doors, all identical and evenly spaced. Natasha stopped in front of one, and touched a control pad beside it. The door unlocked, and she opened it. "These are your quarters," she announced, stepping aside to allow Lucy to go in first. The younger woman took a moment to mentally prepare herself, then entered.

The room wasn't dissimilar to the rest of the facility in its monochrome palette and industrial design, but Lucy was pleased to see that it didn't resemble a jail cell. The bed looked to be a decent quality, and there was some storage for her things, in the form of one locker-esque metal wardrobe and a set of drawers to match.

Natasha must have predicted Lucy's thought process, for she said, "You'll only be here until you're done with training. Afterward, you'll be stationed at one of the other facilities. You'll have more room for the rest of your stuff there." Lucy nodded. It was a lot of change to absorb.

She rolled her suitcase to the foot of the bed, then dropped the other two bags on the mattress.

"Bathroom's at the end of the hall," Natasha spoke up again.

"Okay," Lucy replied. She was temporarily unsure of what to do with herself now, but she didn't have to wonder for long.

"Come on, I'll show you the training rooms."

Natasha turned on her heel, and Lucy followed, eager to see the heart of the building's operations and where she would likely be spending most of her time.

She could hear activity behind the closed doors of the first room as they approached. Natasha opened the door and led the way inside. A few people were busy making use of various exercise equipment. There were treadmills, ellipticals, resistance machines, and free weights. Lucy hadn't been to a gym in a long time, but the sight was familiar—as was the combination of smells: perspiration, cleaner, and the metal and rubber of the equipment itself—and suddenly she didn't feel quite so intimidated.

Their next stop was a large room that Lucy identified as being intended for combat training. This one was definitely less comfortable for her. Punching bags hung on one side of the room, and next to them was a row of dummy human torsos on weighted pedestals. There were racks of blades, wide black mats on which to spar, and even a raised boxing ring. Lucy knew that, like pretty much anything, it wouldn't be so daunting once she was familiar with it and got into the swing of a routine, so she tried not to be concerned as she took everything in. Especially the weaponry. She had always found the idea of sparring with knives or swords to be less than appealing.

"You'll have a basic schedule," Natasha told her, "but you can utilize these rooms during any free time; they're always open."

Next, Natasha showed her the firing range, then took her outside. Behind the facility was a huge grassy field, complete with an agility course and various equipment for strength training. It was going to take some time to get used to a routine that incorporated all of these categories of fitness. She remembered how sore she had been from simply forging her way through the battle-ridden streets of New York. If only she had been making regular trips to a gym, she would have had something of a head start. Of one thing she was certain: She wouldn't be the same after this place was done with her. 

* * *

Lucy threw another punch at the bag.

"Adjust your rotation."

She tried again, concentrating on the angles of her feet, hips and torso.

"Better. Again."

The punching bag received blow after blow. Lucy had lost track of how long she had been at it, and the session continued until her arms were past sore, a good accompaniment to her aching legs and abdominals from her previous workout in the weight room.

"Alright," said Diane, her instructor, "go get something to eat. You have marksmanship at one."

"Yes, Ma'am," Lucy nodded as she reached for her water bottle. As soon as the woman had gone, she dropped to the floor and allowed herself her first real break since she had gotten up that morning. She drank heartily from the bottle, then began to stretch her displeased muscles. It was only her second day at the facility, and judging by her first full morning of exercise, it would appear that the trainers weren't planning on going easy on her while she was still green. Not that she minded. She was training to work for S.H.I.E.L.D., after all.

Exhaling wearily, she stood up. Food was definitely needed, but at the moment, a shower was needed even more. She made her way up to her room for a change of clothes, then to the communal bathroom on her floor, and relieved herself of her sweaty workout attire.

Refreshed, but still sore, she took the elevator back down and navigated the halls, recalling the path that had been shown to her by Natasha, until she found the commissary.

A few instructors and trainees were there, but Lucy hadn't been at the facility long enough to get to know anyone, and now didn't feel like the time to do so. She was perfectly content to sit by herself.

The food was simple, nutritious and digestible. It didn't take her long to eat, and as she slid her meal tray into the collection bin, she was glad to see that she would have a little time to rest before she had to be at the range.

Her mattress cushioned her back nicely as she nearly collapsed onto the bed. She just let herself be for a few minutes, closing her eyes and breathing in the still silence of the slate-grey room. Then, she realized that she was worn out enough to doze off, and she couldn't afford to be late for her next scheduled lesson. So, much to her chagrin, she forced herself upright and reached for her phone in her purse. She had quickly learned that she couldn't make any calls from the facility, nor could she connect to the Internet. Again, she wasn't surprised, but she had been disappointed that contacting her parents and Lena would have to wait for now. At least she had some of her favorite music loaded onto the phone itself. She put in her headphones and leaned back against the wall, setting the play option to shuffle.

A jazz number came on, followed by a post-rock single, then one of the upbeat tunes from _The Drowsy Chaperone_. She looked down at the screen to check the time while the twin "pastry chefs" sang about baking a "Toledo Surprise." She still had a bit of time to kill—more than her body felt comfortable spending in her current position. So, once the song was over, she stopped the music and set an alarm for forty-five minutes. A quick power nap was better than nothing. She turned up the volume on the phone, to ensure that she wouldn't oversleep.

She didn't.

The alarm woke her abruptly, and she felt temporarily disoriented as she scrambled to shut it off. After remembering that she had a schedule to keep, there was a brief moment of panic before she saw that she had ten minutes before she had to be at the range. Wasting no time, she stood up, took a few moments to haphazardly straighten her hair, threw on the black, hoodless zip-up jacket that had been provided for her, then hurried from the room.

She heard the distant earsplitting cacophony of gunfire before she had even reached the door to the antechamber. When she entered, she found another instructor, Jorge, waiting in front of the sound-dampening window, observing two other trainees' progress with their marksmanship. He turned to her as the door closed, and handed her a pair of protective headphones before selecting a firearm from one of the many racks on the wall. Even though she was about to be taught by a professional, in a very serious setting, this was something that she was already familiar with, so it wasn't as daunting as she could imagine the hand-to-hand combat was going to be.

Jorge showed her the basic ins and outs of safely handling a firearm, and she listened attentively, not taking her prior experience for granted, since it had been more than two years since she had done any target practice back home. Once she was briefed, and knew what was expected of her, Jorge equipped her with a utility belt that held a few loaded magazines, then the two of them put on their ear protection, and Lucy followed the man through a second door, into the range.

Standing at the end of one of the aisles, she stared down the target in the shape of a human silhouette hanging several yards in front of her, and proceeded through the motions of checking her weapon, then raised the gun, aimed steadily, and fired. Once—twice—three times—four. She repeated the process, adjusting each shot to hit closer to the center of the head or chest of her target, until she had exhausted the magazine. There was an empty click as she pulled the trigger uselessly, and lowered her arms. She would have to remember to keep track of her expended rounds the next time.

The other gunfire in the room had ceased, and when she turned to face her instructor and saw him removing his ear protection, she did the same.

"Not bad," he said, nodding approvingly. "Have you done this before?"

"It's been a while." She felt a swell of pride at his compliment. At least she wasn't as completely out of her element in this place as she'd thought.

"Alright, reload; do it again."

Lucy slid the hearing protection back on, then ejected the spent magazine, attached it to her belt, and slid a new one into place. She racked a round into the chamber and took her stance once again. 

* * *

The night was heavy, and Lucy was exhausted. Finally, it was time to sleep. But as she lay in bed, in the silence of her room, her thoughts wouldn't leave her alone. Despite her body's desire to heal its muscles and replenish its energy before getting up for another intense day, she just couldn't make herself relax. She turned from her side onto her back, then tried her other side, eventually finding herself back where she'd started. She knew that she had been trying in vain to doze off for well over an hour. With a frustrated sigh, she sat up. The weight of fatigue pressed in on her head, but just lying there, for what could turn out to be hours more, was pointless. She had to break up the monotony somehow.

She reached for her phone and checked the time. It was eleven eighteen. She suppressed a groan, rubbing her forehead. She didn't even want to think about how tough the next day would be if she didn't get at least five hours of sleep. Though, after the grueling day, closer to eight would be ideal. At this rate, she might manage six.

Making a decision, she swung her legs off of the mattress and got up. After slipping into a pair of workout pants, her comfortable zip-up jacket, and her shoes, she opened her bedroom door and stepped out into the dimly lighted hallway.

Her lone footsteps were the only sound as she made her way toward the elevator. She almost felt like she shouldn't be out of her room, but no such rule had been shared with her. The lift carried her down to the training-room level, and the doors opened onto another silent corridor. She followed the now-familiar path, hoping that a ten-minute walk on a treadmill would allow her mind to work through what it needed to work through and begin to relax. It was nice to have such a thing available to her. When she had occasionally had a hard time sleeping back in her apartment—particularly when she had still been growing accustomed to living there—a walk hadn't been an option, seeing as venturing out into the streets of late-night New York, alone, as a young woman, didn't seem like the best idea. But here, despite the slightly disconcerting feeling of being all alone in this enormous building, having the freedom to traverse the quiet, dormant hallways was somewhat calming.

Finally she spied the door to the sparring room. Her destination was only a little farther ahead. As she neared the first room, however, another sound reached her ears, slightly muffled, but louder and more forceful than her footfalls on the smooth, dense floor: the sound of something colliding repeatedly with something else, in a sporadic rhythm. She slowed her pace, listening closely, and stopped in front of the door to the sparring room. It didn't take her long to identify the noise. She almost moved on, not wanting to disturb whoever had had a similar idea to her own, but her curiosity got the best of her. Striving to be as quiet as possible, she opened the door slowly, peering into the room.

Most of the lights were off, except for a few toward one side of the large space. In the pool of light stood a man, steadily attacking one of the punching bags, his back to the door. His strong stance looked rock-solid, and the muscles in his back flexed with each underhanded jab. A patch of sweat darkened his grey shirt between his shoulder blades. Lucy's eyes drifted up to his hair—the neatly trimmed blonde hair.

Suddenly the blows stopped. The man steadied the bag, his powerful biceps relaxing a bit. Lucy tensed, preparing to leave, but knowing that she wouldn't be able to. The man took a few seconds to calm his breathing, then, without warning, he looked over his shoulder, and Lucy found herself staring into the eyes of Captain Steve Rogers.

She felt as if she had been pinned to the spot. The captain scrutinized her where she stood in the darkened doorway, and he knitted his brow. Was he displeased by her presence? Her intention hadn't been to spy on him. She hadn't meant to make him feel uncomfortable. She should apologize. Then, she should leave—she shouldn't be here. But . . . what was _he_ doing here . . . ?

Then, he broken the tense silence, and her stomach dropped to the floor.

". . . Lucy?"


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

For a few long seconds, her name hung in the air between them. Lucy was so taken aback that she couldn't bring herself to speak. Not only had he remembered her, but he had remembered her _name_. Under his stare, that strange feeling began to grow in the pit of her stomach.

When she didn't say anything, he spoke again, his expression still confused, but his tone turning more serious. "What are you doing here?"

The question snapped her out of her stunned silence, and she found her voice. "They recruited me." It seemed rather weak and almost out of place compared to his.

"When?" His clear tone rang out again in the empty room. It sounded similar to how it had when he'd spoken to her in the street, with the battle ensuing around them: confident and authoritative. Befitting a captain.

"A couple days after the attack . . . Alexander Pierce came to see me in the hospital . . ." For some reason, mentioning her hospital stay to the man standing before her caused a slight tightening in her chest. As if she were . . . ashamed—admitting a weakness. The illogical reaction annoyed her. Naturally, he would have expected her to go to the hospital after what she'd been through. And if her presence in the S.H.I.E.L.D. training facility said anything about her, it was that she wasn't weak. But she didn't have time to sort out her emotions.

The captain raised an eyebrow and dropped his gaze, then said, as if considering his own statement, "They don't like to waste time."

Suddenly, a question of her own slipped out. "Why are _you_ here?" But as soon as she'd spoken, she realized how casual it had sounded. Knowing now who this man really was, she felt unsure about how to talk to him. However, if Captain Rogers minded, he didn't show it.

After a moment of silence, he replied, matter-of-factly, "I wanted to do some good. S.H.I.E.L.D. seemed like the best option."

Lucy considered this, but it puzzled her. Weren't the Avengers an official team? Or were they not planning on making it a full-time commitment? It seemed like a waste; she was sure that the world would have a use for them, even when it wasn't actively being invaded by aliens.

However, before she could even consider asking Captain Rogers about it, he spoke again. "How's the arm?"

She blinked, coming out of her thoughts, and reflexively glanced down at her arm, where the bandages were hidden beneath her sleeve.

"It's a lot better."

He nodded, satisfied. "That's good." He then turned back to the punching bag and took his stance, and the silence was again punctuated by the repeated blows of his fists.

Lucy tried not to let herself feel flattered by the fact that he had remembered her injury. It probably wasn't unusual for him to recall something like that. She wondered how many others must have stuck in his mind. Maybe even from the war . . . from his own time. A heavy ache descended upon her chest. _That's right . . . for him, that was practically yesterday . . ._ She watched his strong back as he hit the bag with focused determination. If he had been an ordinary man, he might have looked tough and brooding. But knowing who he was—what he'd been through—he just looked . . . alone. How must he feel? How would _she_ feel, if it were her, if she suddenly went to sleep and woke up to a world without her parents and Lena, and everything that she knew about the world had changed? Being forced to adjust so abruptly would probably be too much for most people. Yet, here he was, moving on with his life, taking the initiative and throwing himself back into the fray—because he cared about others. She recalled the article that she had read about his presumed death and his honorable legacy. But he hadn't died. And his legacy was not yet through being written. She found herself fighting back tears as her throat constricted. Regardless of how embarrassing it would be, if she cried in his presence, he would ask her what was wrong, and she knew that getting anywhere near that subject would not be the best thing for him. It was definitely time for her to go.

Though she felt a bit awkward, leaving without saying anything, she didn't want to disrupt his current bout with the punching bag. So she backed up, quietly slipped out into the hall, and closed the door.

As she walked down the corridor, finally reaching her destination, she wondered what time it was now. But that didn't matter. She knew that there would be no way for her to sleep at the moment, after her impromptu encounter with Steve Rogers. She flicked on a few of the lights, then hopped onto a treadmill and set it to a relatively slow pace, increasing it after a few minutes. She let her mind wander and mull over the jumbled pool of thoughts—with the addition of everything that came with the Captain America variable now in play. She had never expected to see him at the facility, and now that the shock had subsided, she was left with a fluttery nervousness in her stomach, the likes of which she hadn't felt since high school. She allowed herself to relish it for a few minutes, then reminded herself that she was here to hone her body and mind, and she had to focus. She couldn't let herself be distracted by the thought of Captain America being in the same vicinity, possibly watching her train—

She bumped up the speed of the treadmill by a couple of notches. Any faster and she would have to start jogging. Not even three minutes later, she returned to a slower pace, her muscles quickly reminding her that they had had a hard enough day as it was.

Soon, she admitted to herself that she needed to stop. Not only was her body thoroughly re-exhausted, but her brain finally felt ready to shut down. She slowed to a crawl, then carefully stepped off of the belt and powered down the machine. She had forgotten to bring water with her, so she went to the drinking fountain on one of the walls to quench her thirst.

After turning off the lights, she made her way back down the corridor, listening for a sign of activity from the combat room, but all was silent. She decided against investigating whether the captain was still inside, partly because she was too tired, and partly because she didn't want to intrude a second time in one night.

The elevator took her back to her floor, and she briefly debated the pros and cons of showering now or in the morning. Though she really wanted to get into bed, she didn't want to feel pressured by having to factor a shower into her morning schedule. Particularly since, at this rate, her body might not be so eager to drag itself out of bed anyway. She headed for the bathroom, reassuring herself that she would get used to this new way of life eventually. 

* * *

From the moment she woke up, her muscles made it clear that they were not happy. Even if she'd remembered to stretch after her late-night round on the treadmill, she knew that her legs—and arms and shoulders and abs—would still be screaming at her. Now more than ever she regretted neglecting her fitness for so long.

She dragged herself down to the commissary for a quick breakfast before reporting to the gym for her warmup.

As she had suspected, this day was proving itself to be no easier than the last. More accurately, it was harder, thanks to her body trying to recover. She pushed through the pain, stretching between every activity and staying hydrated. _It'll get easier,_ she told herself every time the process started to feel a little too daunting. _This will pass. Just keep going._ It was sometimes easier said than done, but constantly reminding herself of where she was, and what had led her there, reinforced the epic changes in reality that had been brought to her attention so suddenly: aliens and supernatural abilities. Knowing that there could be a multitude of other colossal threats awaiting the planet helped to stoke the blaze of determination inside of her and keep her focused on her goal of being equipped to fight them.

She hammered away at the punching bag, ignoring the burning in her shoulder blades, sides and arms, her ponytail whipping her neck with each pointed strike. As soon as she had fallen into the intense rhythm, Diane's coaching had subsided, and now the woman stood to the side, observing Lucy's form as the girl glared at the bag almost as if it were an actual enemy.

Lucy was so intent on her movements that she had forgotten to breathe properly. Realizing this, she deliberately began to inhale and exhale at an even pace with her punches. The oxygen began to feed her muscles, but she could feel that she was reaching her limit.

The instructor must have seen it as well, for less than a minute later, she barked, "Alright, that's enough."

Lucy stopped her assault on the bag and straightened up to the best of her ability, against the will of her protesting muscles. Her heart raced, blood pounded in her head, and she continued to force her lungs to breathe evenly, despite her reflex to gasp for air. She might have pushed herself a bit too hard. Immediately she began to stretch her arms in what she hoped wasn't a useless attempt to prevent further intense pain in the near future.

"That was good," Diane said. "Just don't kill yourself; it's only your second day." A note of humor touched her voice, and when Lucy looked over at her, she saw a smile playing at her lips. However, any casual expression stopped there. Her persona was still that of a S.H.I.E.L.D. professional—one who had probably seen more than she would be willing to share, and carried her heavy knowledge of the darker sides of the world with her at all times.

Lucy nodded, her heart rate beginning to slow, and her lungs no longer feeling so strained. She gave her left arm another tug across her chest before dropping it, ignoring the burning pain in her muscles.

"Take a break. Meet back here in an hour."

"Yes, Ma'am," Lucy confirmed, and Diane left her to her own devices.

Lucy was about to reach for her bottle of water on the floor by the wall when a clear masculine voice carried over from somewhere behind her, and she stopped short.

"Not bad. Got some repressed aggression that maybe I should know about?"

She turned around, knowing who it was before even laying eyes on his muscular, broad-shouldered form. His words had displayed a hint of amusement, and for the first time since she had met him, his mouth was quirked up into a slight, closed-lipped, cockeyed smile. He was crossing the room toward another of the punching bags, in the process of strapping a pair of protective black gloves onto his hands. She was sure that the momentary discomfort in her chest was not a lingering effect of the workout. Luckily, if the captain's sudden appearance catching her off guard showed on her face, it was easily hidden by her exhaustion.

She bent down and retrieved her water, taking a hearty swig—and some time to gather her wits—before responding. "Maybe a little." She couldn't help but smile back. His relaxed expression was a nice change from the seriousness that he had displayed thus far. "I'll be feeling it later, though." As if she wasn't already.

He cocked an eyebrow in understanding, obviously no stranger to that kind of pain himself, and stepped up to his own punching bag. As he went at it, Lucy took off her gloves and walked over to one of the mats, taking the opportunity to stretch again, in preparation for whatever her instructor had planned next.

The blows from Captain Rogers' one-sided sparring session punctuated the air while Lucy tried to ease the worst of the pain from her hamstrings. She and the captain were the only two people in the room at the moment, and despite her frustrating nervousness at being alone with him again, she found the current atmosphere to be very pleasant. It definitely helped that his back was mostly turned toward her while she pulled various semi-awkward poses to achieve the best angles for the sake of relieving the tension in her limbs.

With so little time before Diane returned, Lucy didn't see the point in going up to her room, so once her muscles were as relieved as they were going to be, she went to refill her water bottle before taking a seat against the wall to wait out the rest of the hour. She tried not to watch the well-built man at the punching bag, but there wasn't much else to look at. His form was impeccable. She was beginning to wonder if he would ever tire, then he paused for a drink and took a minute or two to loosen up, rolling his shoulders and flexing his arms in preparation for another round.

As soon as her instructor returned, Lucy got up, ready for the next stage of training, but was surprised to see Diane accompanied by a young man.

"Carlisle, this is Jameson. You'll be working together in combat training today."

Combat training. This was the thing that felt the most foreign to Lucy. Sure, she could throw some punches, but she had never grappled with anyone before. Her nerves started to kick in, but she had been mentally prepared for this since accepting the offer to join the agency. As Diane directed the two recruits to one of the black mats, Lucy couldn't help but notice that the constant sound of the captain's fists colliding with the punching bag had ceased.

While the instructor started Lucy and Jameson on the basics of attack and self-defense, Lucy tried to ignore the fact that Steve Rogers was still in the room, and avoided looking in his direction. He had been silent for five minutes now, and once or twice she thought that maybe he had slipped out of the room without her noticing. But then, Diane made her shift her position to demonstrate a different method of attack, and Lucy caught a glimpse of the blonde man's grey-shirted form across the room, standing motionless against a wall, and she couldn't tell whether she was disappointed or slightly relieved.

As she went through the motions of the various techniques, trading off between offensive and defensive positions with Jameson, she felt a natural inclination to impress the captain. This impractical desire led to her getting a bit ahead of herself on one of her moves, and her sparring partner easily knocked her feet out from under her and took her to the ground—exactly the opposite of what she had been going for. Lovely. She scolded herself for screwing up her priorities. She was supposed to be focusing on something important, not being self-conscious in front of a man. If she wanted to impress him, the way to go about it would be to not jump ahead of her current abilities, to take the lesson at the proper pace. To not make herself look like an overzealous fool.

_"Got some repressed aggression that maybe I should know about?"_

Even if he had been joking, it wasn't an impression of herself that she wanted to build upon.

From that point onward, she refocused and began to calm down, honing in on her opponent and feeding off of her instructor's words.

She slammed Jameson into the mat, pinning his arm behind his back. He sucked in air through his teeth at the uncomfortable hold, and as soon as Diane announced "Good," Lucy released his arm and stood up. The successful takedown left her with a feeling of satisfaction, and she was tempted to take a glance at the blonde man across the room, to see if he had been watching, but she quickly reminded herself that she wasn't looking for his approval.

"Again," Diane commanded.

It was over an hour before an end to the session was called, and Lucy wondered just how many bruises she would wake up to the next day. Her injured arm was also in more pain than it had been more recently. She reached for another drink of water, having been deprived for more than twenty minutes, and guzzled what was left in the bottle. Finally she allowed her eyes to stray to the tall blonde across the room. He had begun another round of boxing a little while ago, and was currently wiping sweat from his brow with his bare forearm. Not for the first time, Lucy marveled at his stamina, and wondered whether he just enjoyed whaling on the punching bag, or whether this particular form of exercise was serving as an outlet of some kind. The hunch of his shoulders and the determination of each strike made her lean more toward the latter. She didn't blame him; it had certainly felt cathartic when she'd been at it earlier in the day.

Then, without warning, her thoughts turned to the man's past, and her heart ached for him yet again. If that was, in fact, where his mind was at the moment, then suddenly his prolonged beating of the punching bag took on a whole other level of depth.

Trying not to dwell on the thoughts, so that the emotions that inevitably came with them wouldn't draw any attention her, Lucy turned her back to the repetitive blunt jabs of the captain's fists, and walked toward the door, wincing a bit as she went, thanks to her own beating that she had received at the hands of her sparring partner. Deciding that some ice packs from the infirmary were in order, she left the training room—and the super soldier—behind.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

The rest of Lucy's first week at the facility had passed in much the same fashion as the first couple of days, only now her body was starting to grow accustomed to the constant bruises and scrapes. Ice packs had become a trusty ally. The first several days had been progressively harder, and her body had seemed to hit a wall, protesting against the abuse that was her new routine. But with her sheer will to succeed, she had pushed through the wall—though not without feeling like she might need to visit the infirmary for more than just ice packs. Gradually her endurance had begun to improve, as had her tendency to grow self-conscious around the captain whenever he happened to be around.

The fact that Captain America was an active member of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s training facility was a rather big deal among the recruits. Thankfully, from what Lucy could see, they were respectful in their admiration, and tended to leave him alone. It must be the discipline that came with preparing to become an agent, she thought, for she knew that, thanks to the publicity that he had received after the battle in New York, if civilians were to see him on the street, they would be likely to mob him in a second.

Despite Steve Rogers technically being one of the many training for S.H.I.E.L.D., he had his own routine, and never sparred with any of the other recruits. Though this was to be expected, considering that no one in the vicinity was a match for his superhuman abilities, and he wouldn't gain anything by having to go easy on anybody. However, no matter what exercises and drills they assigned him, he always seemed to end up back in front of a punching bag, in the corner of a quiet training room late at night, which Lucy occasionally witnessed when she found it a bit harder to get to sleep, but after their first encounter in that room, she had made sure to not interrupt his private sessions again.

It was now a sunny afternoon in Lucy's second week of training. A light breeze blew at the strands of hair that had strayed from her ponytail as she stood on the grassy field outside of the facility, waiting for her turn to run the agility course. The first time that she had attempted it was practically a joke. She hadn't expected to have anything close to an impressive time, as she had never done anything like that before, and it was natural that the other recruits were better than her, since they had been there longer, but it was still rather humiliating to feel so inadequate. She was eternally grateful that Captain Rogers hadn't been present.

Since then, she had continued to apply the same determination and focus to the course as she was to boxing, combat training, and even marksmanship. Steadily, through all of the aches and cuts and bruises, and a nearly sprained wrist and ankle, she had been improving.

She watched one of the other young women scale the shorter of the two walls, and then the man in front of her took off for the start of the course. He was allowed to make it halfway through before Lucy was signaled to begin. She raced forward, heart pounding, and made quick work of the tires on the ground, alternating her steps inside each center hole in what felt like record time, but it was always hard to tell how long it actually took when her adrenaline was pumping. Then, she dove into the dirt and dragged herself underneath the mess of threatening razor wire strung mere inches from her head. Ignoring the discomfort in her now-filthy elbows, she hauled herself out from the shallow pit and pressed on toward the set of monkey bars, making quick work of them before jumping down and dashing to the balance beam. She made it across successfully without slipping and almost injuring her ankle.

The walls were getting easier to scale, but her upper-body strength still needed work. She dropped down the last eight feet of the second, fifteen-foot wall, landing carefully and absorbing her weight with her legs, then sprinted to the finish line, leaping the two narrow trenches along the way. Winded, she jogged to a halt and focused on catching her breath.

"Two minutes, twenty-six seconds," the instructor announced.

"You're getting better."

Lucy turned to see Jameson standing a couple of yards away, a bottle of water in his hand, still recovering from his own run.

"Little by little," she said, cracking a smile and reaching for a drink herself, stepping out of the way as the trainee behind her headed for the finish.

A few minutes later, another young woman cleared the trenches and raced for the end. "Two fifty-one," called the instructor. The girl shook her head, walking over to Lucy. "Almost had it," she panted.

"It's okay, don't worry about it," Lucy consoled her, handing her some water. The girl took it gratefully.

When Lucy had embarked upon this new path in her life, she hadn't expected to make any friends, though now she wondered why. Being cooped up in a compound with a bunch of others who shared your fate, it seemed unavoidable that one would make connections, even just casual acquaintanceships. The sense of camaraderie was nice when you were all in varying stages of the grueling process that was becoming an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. Jameson and Heather were the ones to whom Lucy had felt the closest after the first week. They sometimes ate lunch together, and occasionally saw each other during training sessions. Though it wasn't an intimate friendship, it was nice to have people to talk to when she couldn't call Lena at the drop of a hat.

Despite her taxing daily life, she thought about her parents and best friend often, and she hoped that it wouldn't be much longer before she was able to contact them. They had been prepared for infrequent calls, but Lucy still worried that they would be concerned, and just wanted to let them know that she was alright.

Suddenly, a few murmurs broke out among the gathered recruits, and Lucy felt Heather prod at her arm. She glanced at the girl and saw her staring off into the distance. The other trainees were all turning to look in the same direction. Lucy followed suit, and her eyes landed on the muscular form of Steve Rogers. He had begun his routine run around the compound. Though it wasn't the first time that Lucy had seen him in action, she was always in awe when she watched him take lap after lap at a pace that she had previously thought impossible. Superior strength, agility, _and_ speed? The man was an absolute powerhouse.

"Crazy, right?" Heather said, still following the super soldier with her eyes. "That he's here?"

"Yeah," Lucy concurred. The Captain disappeared behind the side of the building.

"Makes you want to try to measure up."

_Yeah . . ._

* * *

Lucy stood in the hallway, the phone held to her ear, suppressing her excitement as she waited for the other end of the line to be picked up. It only rang twice.

"Hello?"

"Mom?"

"Lucy! Oh, thank goodness, are you alright?!"

Lucy felt tension releasing from her body at the sound of her mother's voice. "I'm great, Mom; everything's fine. I'm sorry it took me so long to call. I really wanted to, but . . . communications have been limited, and, with getting settled and everything . . ."

"It's okay, Honey, we understand." She sounded almost tearful, but the smile in her voice was obvious. "Don't worry about us."

Lucy grinned. "I think that's about as impossible as you not worrying about me."

Her mother chuckled softly, in obvious agreement, before asking, "Are you taking care of yourself? How's the new place?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. It's good." The simple descriptor was so wildly inaccurate, Lucy had to cringe internally. "I've met some nice people," she added, to give her mom something else to hold on to.

"I'm glad to hear that."

Lucy looked at the time remaining for her use of the secure line. "Mom, I have to go. I'll call back next week, okay?"

"Okay, Honey. I love you."

"I love you, too. Tell Dad I love him, and I'll hopefully talk to him next time."

"Of course."

"Bye, Mom."

"Goodbye, Honey."

Lucy hung up and quickly dialed Lena's number. At first she thought that her friend wouldn't answer, since the number would show up as unknown, but after several long seconds, Lena's voice came over the line.

"Hello . . . ?"

"Lena, it's me."

"Holy shit—_Lucy?!_ Where the hell have you been?! I know you said that it might be a while, but it's about time! I've been dying to hear from you! How is everything?! What's it like?!"

Lucy just let her friend ramble for a while and expend her pent-up emotions. It hadn't even been two weeks yet, but she had really missed her exuberant personality.

Lucy proceeded to tell Lena the same general information that she had given her mother, but it was much more challenging to placate her friend and get her to accept that she couldn't spill her guts about every detail of her new job. After steering the conversation toward what Lena had been up to, it became easier, and Lucy happily listened to the goings-on of life in Germany and art school. Then, within a few short minutes, she had to say goodbye. Though disappointed, Lena looked forward to her friend's next call, and ended the conversation by telling Lucy that she had better have a boyfriend by then. Lucy rolled her eyes, but cracked a smile anyway. Good ol' Lena.

She hung up the phone, and without a second glance, stepped away and headed down the hall, feeling much lighter now that she didn't have to worry about her loved ones' concern for her well-being. The conversations, however brief, had left her feeling reenergized and more motivated than ever as she made her way to the commissary.

* * *

The following day, Lucy headed back out to the field. When she arrived, many of the trainees were already present. And they were all facing the grassy expanse laid out before them. Immediately she could see why. Beyond the group, she caught a glimpse of what appeared to be a large yellow bulldozer driving past. Only, there was no sound of an engine. She made her way to an open space among the trainees, and her eyes widened when she saw the true focus of everyone's attention. Captain Rogers was leaning into the bulldozer and pushing it across the field as if it were nothing but a human-sized tackle dummy. He reached the other end of the field so quickly that if Lucy had gotten there any later, she might have missed it. Was he always holding back that much strength? No wonder no one could spar with him. Lucy found herself thinking how glad she was that he was on their side.

By the time everyone retired to their rooms that night, Lucy's body was already telling her that it would be a struggle to get to sleep. As was her habit when this occurred, she took herself down to the gym, bringing her cellphone with her for some musical companionship.

When she passed the combat-training room, she heard no sign of the captain inside. It was always a bit more eerie to be all alone on this level, but she felt better as soon as she began her routine on the treadmill, with Frank accompanying her with an upbeat melody.

Soon, it was just her and her thoughts, as the music and the sound of the treadmill filled the huge space while her body worked to expend its residual energy. She wished that she could get into a healthy sleep routine, but it was nice to have the gym to herself for a while sometimes. The casual atmosphere of these late-night sessions made her feel a little less like she was at a covert training facility. She closed her eyes, focusing on her breathing and keeping her stride centered on the treadmill.

"Is that Frank?" The familiar voice came directly from her left.

Lucy's eyes flew open in alarm, and she stumbled slightly, clutching the guardrails at her sides. In the same moment, a strong hand wrapped around her upper arm, helping to steady her. She looked up into the clear blue eyes of Steve Rogers. He released her arm once he was sure that she was stable, and she continued to walk at a slower speed, reaching out to turn down her phone a couple of notches.

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you," he said with an apologetic half-smile. "I heard the music."

She immediately shook her head, heart racing from a combination of the workout, nearly falling, and his unexpected proximity. "No, it's fine. Gotta love some Sinatra." She found herself cracking a smile as well—partly due to nerves—and hoped that it didn't come across as awkward.

"I didn't know anyone still listened to him." There was something nostalgic and almost . . . _sad_ in his comment.

Lucy's smile softened. "_Oh,_ yeah. He may not be mainstream, but he's definitely still around."

"Good to know." He crossed his arms over his broad chest and raised an eyebrow, glancing at her phone in the treadmill's cup holder. "I haven't really gotten into any of the new stuff."

"I can't blame you," she said, and was about to remark on what a drastic change it must be from what he's used to, but stopped herself before she could bring up the subject of his history. Instead, she went with something safer. "I don't listen to a lot of it myself." She hoped that the simple common denominator between them was enough to offer him even a small amount of comfort as he was undoubtedly reliving memories from his past.

Neither of them spoke for a few moments, the treadmill and the music once again the only sounds in the room. But before Lucy could start to feel too awkward as she continued to walk in place, the man said, "Couldn't sleep either, huh?"

His voice and the question were like lifelines, and whatever tension had begun to take hold of her body was gone in an instant—though she distinctly registered a nervous fluttering sensation in the pit of her stomach that must have been there since he had appeared beside her. She shook her head with a wry smile. "No." Then, with a halfhearted shrug, "It happens sometimes."

"I've noticed." His eyes held a touch of humor as that soft smirk lingered on his lips, and Lucy had to look away. She concentrated on getting over the fact that she was having a legitimate conversation with Steve Rogers, and in such an incredibly odd setting to boot. She wondered if she was being rude by not stopping the treadmill and giving him her full attention—though, if she were being honest with herself, she was barely thinking about how her feet were moving anymore, and the music had practically become background noise.

He spoke again, and her eyes automatically returned to his face. "How've you been holding up?" The earnest look he was giving her made her chest constrict.

"Really well," she replied honestly, hoping to ease his apparent concern. "I mean, it's really intense, but I don't regret it."

He nodded and dropped his gaze, his head slightly bowed. "That's good." Despite his acceptance of her answer, his expression was contemplative. He almost seemed troubled.

In an attempt to brighten his mood, Lucy spoke again, changing the subject. "That move with the bulldozer was pretty impressive." She shot him a sideways smile that was both shy and teasing.

It worked. His expression lightened, and with his head still angled downward, his eyes turned back to her. Now, instead of troubled, he just looked a tad embarrassed. A moment later, he averted his gaze again, looking off toward a distant side of the room. "I'm not sure if they were trying to test me, or just get me to show off."

Lucy's smile threatened to stretch into a grin, and she withheld a laugh. The atmosphere between them was changing by the second, into something more familiar—comfortable—and the sensation in the pit of her stomach wasn't quite so intense anymore. "I'm pretty sure no one thinks you were trying to show off," she assured him. He didn't seem like the type.

The captain seemed to appreciate that sentiment. There was another pause in the conversation, then he shifted on his feet, and Lucy could sense what he was about to say before he opened his mouth. "Well, I'll leave you to it . . ." And with one last gentle smile, he started back toward the door.

Again, Lucy could not decide whether she was relieved or disappointed. But as she watched him walk away, she felt a pull inside of her, and before she knew it, she was stepping off of the moving belt, onto the side bars of the treadmill, and turning off the machine. "Captain Rogers?" Saying his name and title aloud sent a new wave of nerves through her. It felt unreasonably intimate.

He stopped and looked back expectantly.

"Thank you," she said. "For saving my life."

His brow furrowed slightly in surprise, but then his expression returned to normal, and with a touch of a smile and the raise of an eyebrow, he replied, "I could say the same thing to you. You were brave back there."

The butterflies were back in Lucy's stomach at his unexpected words. Then, he added something even more unexpected, and it did nothing to calm the fluttering inside of her.

"And call me Steve."

With that, he was gone. The door closed behind him, leaving Lucy feeling thunderstruck.

The soft, mellow tones of Sinatra's voice soon drew her gaze from the door, back to the cellphone. She grabbed it and stepped off of the treadmill, suddenly feeling lighter. She replayed his words—and his expression—again and again in her mind as she took a seat on the floor and began to stretch, a small, unconscious smile stuck on her face.

_"And call me Steve."_

If she could have guessed that something unexpected would happen during what should have been just a routine late-night workout, being granted a first-name basis with Steve Rogers wouldn't have even been on her radar. Not only that, but he had thanked _her_ for what _she_ had done during the battle, which hadn't felt like very much when it came down to it. Had she really done enough for him to suggest that she had saved his life? She doubted it. Still, having her bravery recognized felt good. Very good. Especially when the recognition was coming from Captain America: war hero, Avenger, and role model to thousands.

She returned to the elevator, the smile on her face growing as she passed the combat room and heard the sound of a bag in use. Once back in her quarters, she realized that her mind wasn't winding down as it normally would after returning from the gym late at night, but she climbed into bed anyway and welcomed the lingering thoughts of the interaction that had taken place downstairs. Her body quickly grew heavy with the exhaustion, and although she had expected to lie awake for quite a while, she soon fell into a very pleasant and contented slumber.


	10. Chapter 10

**Note****:** I was really looking forward to including that bulldozer scene, which was mentioned in the first season of Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. xP 

* * *

**Chapter 10**

_BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!_

Lucy lowered the pistol and checked her target, and was pleased to see tight clusters of tiny holes in the vital points of the humanoid silhouette.

"Excellent work," Jorge congratulated. "You're dismissed for today."

"Thank you, Sir," she replied, trying not to look too pleased. She had been steadily improving, but this was the first time that her shots had been so clean. She returned to the antechamber and removed her ear protection before replacing the gun and the spent magazines in their respective racks. More shots echoed from within the firing range as another trainee got to work, and Lucy left for the combat room.

When she arrived, a wrestling match was in progress in the ring. A few other trainees stood nearby, waiting until they were called up to test their skills. Lucy still wasn't as confident in hand-to-hand combat as she was with a gun, even though she had been working on both for two weeks. She kept reminding herself that two weeks wasn't very long for someone who'd had no prior training in such physically demanding techniques. After all, she had been engaging muscles that she had never really used before, and she was just now getting to the point where she wasn't in total pain at the end of every day.

Maybe she put so much pressure on herself because all of her opponents were more seasoned, and she felt like she needed to catch up. Or maybe it had something to do with Captain—_Steve,_ who sometimes stood by and observed the sparring sessions. But having already made up her mind to not let his presence effect her, Lucy wouldn't allow herself to consider that possibility.

Still, she breathed an inner sigh of relief when she saw that the blonde was currently nowhere to be seen, then took her place with the other recruits at the side of the ring.

Eventually it was her turn, and she climbed up, through the chords, onto the platform, and faced down her opponent: a girl a few years older than herself. She focused on reading the girl's body language, predicting her moves, and after only a couple of minutes of fake-outs and grappling, Lucy managed to drop her opponent to the floor, and climbed out of the ring with only minor bruising.

Everyone went two rounds—unless the instructor was dissatisfied with someone's performance, then they immediately had them try again—and after her second, Lucy refilled her bottle of water at the fountain before heading off to the weight room.

As soon as she entered, she noticed that the few people who were there had their attention directed toward something on a far side of the room. She had a good guess as to what it was, and her suspicion was confirmed when she saw the super soldier bench-pressing several hundred pounds on a barbel and making it seem practically effortless. She couldn't help but watch discreetly as she crossed the room to one of the racks of dumbbells, but turned her eyes to the task at hand once she had selected a set of fifteen-pound weights. Taking a seat on a bench, she tried not to think about how measly they seemed, compared to the captain's.

She heard the tell-tale _clang_ of the barbell landing back in its hooks as she worked on the muscles in her arms. There was no doubt that they had come a decent way since she had arrived at the facility, but there was still a ways to go. She was determined to make it through the agility course faster and faster each time, and scaling those walls always slowed her down. The men, and some of the other girls, had a tendency to make it look easy. Maybe she should skip to twenty pounds already.

Finishing a set, Lucy put down the weights and gave her arms a minute of rest, filling the time with a good drink of water. As she reached for the dumbbells again, she happened to glance to the side, just as Steve was passing by. His eyes met hers for a moment, and a small smile pulled at the corners of his lips. Lucy returned it before looking away. Despite their conversation the previous night, adjusting to the new familiarity between them was going to take more than one day. Why did she have to feel so awkward around him? Lena probably wouldn't hesitate to talk to him at every opportunity. Lucy began her next set of reps, silently cursing her lack of experience with men. 

* * *

_Steady . . . steady . . . good. Now fast. Faster!_ She ran from the balance beam to the first wall, satisfied as she made it over easily. Over the past week, she had picked up her time on the third wall, but still thought that she could do better. _Come on, faster!_ she ordered herself, but she knew, as soon as she attempted to obey, that she wasn't using her best judgment. Two thirds of the way up the last vertical obstruction, she felt one hand fumble, then her right foot slipped. Her adrenaline spiked, and she just managed to catch herself by overcompensating with her other hand before she could fall backward to the ground below. She took a moment to steady her nerves, losing one or two valuable seconds and mentally kicking herself while her heart pounded as it tried to recover. As she continued on, reaching the top of the wall and dropping down on the opposite side, she hoped that it was such a minor slip-up that no one had really noticed—and if they had, that they wouldn't care. As long as it didn't greatly effect her time, it shouldn't matter.

She crossed the finish line, and her time was called out. It was still almost two seconds better than her last. Pleasantly surprised, and satisfied enough for now, she guzzled a good third of a bottle of water, making a mental note to not pull anything reckless and overly enthusiastic again. She was reaching her goal without it. 

* * *

Lucy kept pace with the front of the group as they jogged around the perimeter of the facility.

_. . . thirty-four, thirty-five, thirty-six, thirty-seven, thirty-eight. . ._ she counted her strides in her head, and before long, the captain ran past, so close to her that she could feel the disturbance in the air as he lapped the group once again and continued with yet another circuit around the compound. As she watched him vanish around the side of the building, she was tempted to pick up her own pace and maybe give him a momentary run for his money the next time he came around, but of course, that was ridiculous. So instead, she focused on her own endurance and keeping count of how many strides she took before the super soldier passed her by again. 

* * *

The night was thick, and there was a slight chill in the air as Lucy navigated her way through the trees. The weight of the pistol strapped to her thigh no longer felt foreign. Her blood was pumping with adrenaline as she paused behind a tree and took stock of the situation. She could hear the quiet sound of footsteps from somewhere nearby, and peered through the darkness ahead of her. There was no sign of movement, and according to the briefing, she was still a ways from their target.

She continued on, dodging tree trunks and stepping as nimbly as she could over patches of undergrowth. Soon, the glow of white lights was visible in the distance. She headed straight for it, cautious to not let her guard down, and finally the trees parted. She slowed and stopped behind the last tree at the edge of a clearing. Before her stood a two-story concrete building surrounded by three armored trucks. Her eyes scanned the area. There was still no movement.

"Alpha 3, on location," she spoke in a low tone into the earpiece.

Two seconds later, a male voice echoed her announcement through the comm. "Alpha 1, on location."

Immediately, a familiar clear and authoritative tone responded, "Hold position." The sound of his voice was reassuring, and Lucy obeyed, keeping her eyes on the scene in front of her.

"Alpha 4, on location."

"Alpha 5, on location."

"Alpha 2, on location."

Steve's voice came through Lucy's earpiece again: "Alpha 3, target status."

Lucy responded immediately. "Everything's quiet, Captain."

But almost as soon as she had spoken, the door of the building opened, and a black-clothed figure stepped out.

"Wait—" she corrected, watching the door like a hawk as two more men stepped out behind the first, carrying a large black case between them. "Target sighted. Three men present, moving target to the center vehicle."

"Do you have a clear shot?"

"Negative," Lucy replied. "They're behind the vehicle."

"This is Alpha 1. I have a shot, but only on one of them."

"Alpha 5 here. I can back you up."

"Take the shot, and be ready," Steve ordered.

Lucy watched with bated breath as the crack of a gun split the night air, and one of the men behind the truck sprawled out on the ground behind the back wheel. Instantly, more gunfire followed as the two remaining men retaliated, and Lucy's other team members tried to take them out. She could see that they were in a stalemate, and her eyes scanned the other elements of their surroundings. Within seconds, she had an idea.

"This is Alpha 3. I'm moving in to get a better perspective."

"Watch yourself, Three." The captain didn't sound entirely thrilled with her plan.

"Affirmative."

Lucy darted out from behind the tree and ran across the open area to the nearest truck. Peering around the back, she located the two men taking cover behind the open cargo-hatch doors of their vehicle. Their backs were to her, their attention focused on the firefight. Lucy gladly took the invitation. She drew her gun from its holster and leveled it at the first of the two men, preparing herself to be able to take on the next one as quickly as possible. Barely two seconds later, she was squeezing the trigger.

She watched as her intended target dropped, then aimed at the other as he spun around, looking for the source of his comrade's demise. He spotted her, but not before she landed a shot to his shoulder. She cursed under her breath as he stumbled back against the truck and raised his weapon to point directly at her. She ducked behind the vehicle just in time as a bullet whizzed by. Another immediately followed, striking the side of the truck with a harsh clang.

"Alpha 3, status!" came her captain's voice in her ear.

"One down, one hit. I'm trying to get a clean shot." She took another couple of breaths in preparation, then whipped her arm out and fired in the direction of the enemy, aiming as well as she could. Her round hit the other truck instead of the man, and she ducked back again, just in time to avoid a few fresh rounds herself. She thought fast, while the captain ordered a few of the team members around to the other side of the building, for a different angle of approach.

Suddenly, something clicked in Lucy's brain. She dropped to the ground and looked underneath the vehicle. She could see the man's booted feet by the open hatch as he fired into the surrounding treeline. Without hesitation, she raised her gun and shot at the man's legs. He cried out and fell, and as soon as the rest of him came into view, she planted a round in his chest. Her ears rang painfully in the silence that followed, and as she got to her feet, she made a mental note to not shoot guns underneath cars in the future, unless she had adequate hearing protection.

"Alpha 3—enemy down. Advancing on target now," she notified her team, before moving cautiously out from behind the truck, toward the black case in the open hatch of the other vehicle.

"Wait, hold your position," Steve ordered, and Lucy stopped in her tracks, glancing into the surrounding darkness that lay beyond the building's security lights. She was suddenly very aware of how exposed she was, and it made her pulse pick back up. Even if there were no enemies in sight, she couldn't know if she was out of danger for sure.

She heard distant footsteps, and turned to see two of her teammates approaching. Once they were beside the truck, she approached the hatch while they kept lookout. Lucy stepped around the fallen men on the ground, and slid her gun back into the holster on her thigh before reaching for the case. She made a quick inspection of the details, to be sure that this was indeed what they were supposed to retrieve.

"Target acquired," she announced.

"Good work," the captain replied.

Lucy heard the others coming out of the woods and toward the parked vehicles, but as her eyes moved over the case once more, she froze. Another sound had caught her attention. It was so minute that she had nearly missed it, even in the quiet.

"Wait, stop!" she cried into the comm, and her fingers went straight for the latches on the case.

The approaching footsteps halted, and when Steve spoke, she could hear him from both the comm and around the side of the vehicle. "What is it?" He was on alert, knowing that something was wrong.

Lucy opened the case, and her fear was realized as the tiny muted beeping that she had heard a few seconds ago was now loud and clear. She stared down at the red digital display before her, the numbers counting down.

_. . . 7 . . . 6 . . ._

"Back! Get back!" she cried, running as fast as she could in the opposite direction, pulling along her two nearest teammates as they joined her in attempting to clear the blast zone.

They had barely made it a few meters past the neighboring vehicle when a loud buzzer sounded, echoing harshly through the clearing. Lucy and the others stopped running and turned back, working on catching their breath as their captain's voice addressed them.

"Alright; nice work, everyone. Head on back."

As the team made for the woods, movement drew Lucy's attention to the truck that held the case, and she saw the fallen men get to their feet, their part in the simulation completed.

As she neared the edge of the lights' perimeter, Lucy saw the captain's impressive silhouette, clad in his red-white-and-blue uniform, standing a short distance away, closer to the treeline. He was looking pointedly at her. As their eyes met, he said, "Carlisle—good call."

"Thank you, Sir," she replied, following his lead and using a formal address, despite the mission technically being over. It wasn't exactly public knowledge that her relationship with the man in blue was more familiar than anyone else's at the compound, and she was glad to keep it that way. Their late-night interactions were brief and relatively infrequent, but for Lucy they were a reprieve from her rigorous daily routine, and it was nice to feel like she had something of a friend in Steve Rogers. Her desire to keep it private almost made her feel a bit selfish, but she assumed that if the other trainees became aware of her connection with him, they may try to make one themselves, and it might put the man on the spot. The fact that he didn't strike up conversations with others in the middle of the day was evidence enough that he liked to keep to himself, and she didn't want him to feel hounded. He already got enough attention. It had been more than a month since he had arrived, but his superhuman feats of strength and agility still drew bystanders. He had assured Lucy that he didn't mind, since it came with the territory, and that he had grown accustomed to such attention ever since he had first become the Star-Spangled Man and toured with his live show, both domestically and overseas. But she knew, just from their conversations and his demeanor, that he preferred to fly under the radar if he could. This made her even more touched that he had found her to be an acceptable companion for midnight workouts.

As the team trudged back through the forest, however, Lucy had a feeling that tonight she would have no problem getting to sleep. And, aside from a few minutes spent reliving the intense combat scenario as she settled into bed, she had been correct. 

* * *

The up-tempo jazzy sound of Benny Goodman filled the gym as Lucy jogged in place on the treadmill. When she heard the door open, she felt a familiar thrill of happiness, but kept her eyes directed down at the statistics of her run on the display in front of her as the man crossed the room. He hopped up onto the machine beside hers and selected his own pace. It wasn't until he had reached a casual run that Lucy glanced his way and said, with a small smile, "Wanna race?"

He smirked at her sarcasm. "You think you have enough of a head start?"

She chuckled. "Maybe. If we time it. Can you catch up within two minutes?" she joked.

A crooked grin spread across his face, and he raised his eyebrows, looking down at the display. "Not sure the machine could handle that."

Lucky gave another soft laugh, despite there probably being some truth to that statement.

The two of them continued on at their current speeds, enjoying the music as it changed from Goodman to Glenn Miller to Ella Fitzgerald. It was a pleasant and relaxed atmosphere, and Lucy felt good running at Steve's side. If only she didn't have to rely on a treadmill to do so.

The friendly acquaintanceship between Lucy and the captain had progressed over the weeks to the point where she no longer felt so flustered around him, and they now spent more of their after-hours time together. In addition, Steve had recently begun to help her keep up to par with her combat techniques, offering advice on both attack and defensive maneuvers, and even letting her practice on him. The first time that he had suggested it, the confidence that she had been gaining in his presence had begun to wane, and the nerves had returned more strongly as she'd found herself in direct and prolonged physical contact with him. But, much like she had with their casual conversations, she had grown accustomed to the sparring sessions—if they could even be called that, considering he didn't really fight her. Truthfully, she wasn't sure that she needed the help, as her performance in combat training had become some of the best among the recruits, but the additional practice couldn't hurt. And who would pass up a chance to work one-on-one with Captain America?

After a few minutes, Lucy slowed to a walk, not feeling bad about giving up on their almost-race, as she had been at it since before he'd joined her. When she got off of the treadmill, she left her phone where it was, while she headed to the mat. The current piece was a sixties recording of a classic swing number, and she knew that Steve enjoyed hearing the various renditions.

She was in the middle of giving her legs a good stretch when she heard Steve end his run, and she looked up as he came over to where she sat.

"You feel like going a round tonight?" he asked.

Lucy thought for a moment, then snagged her water from the floor beside her and stood up. "I think I'll turn in."

"Sure thing." The captain gave a slight nod and made his way over to the free weights. "Goodnight, Lucy."

"Goodnight," she returned, and made her way back to the treadmill to grab her phone. She was sorry that the rest of his time would have to be spent in the quiet.

As she reached out for the device, however, she paused, suddenly struck with an idea. She glanced over her shoulder. Steve was taking a seat on one of the benches with his back to her. It only took her a second or two of consideration before she decided. He may always have to go easy on her during their mock fights, but she could at least try to keep him sharp.

She slowly put down her bottle, then turned around and started to walk back toward him. Her footsteps were relatively silent, until she picked up her pace. She was almost running, and was only a few meters away when he whipped around and got to his feet, intercepting her arm as it came at him and spinning her into his chest, absorbing her momentum. She could feel him chuckle slightly above her ear. "Ah, darnit," she muttered, though secretly she was glad that he'd heard her coming. She didn't actually want to hurt the man. Not that she thought she could.

"Nice try," he said, releasing her from his warm grasp. Though, instead of condescending, he sounded amused. Maybe even a little impressed.

"Gotta keep you on your toes," Lucy quipped. "Considering how boring it is here."

"I appreciate it."

That smirking look he gave her still caused the butterflies in her stomach to react unnecessarily.

"Alright, I'm done now," she assured him, then gave a casual wave as she turned to go. "Goodnight again."

"'Night."

She retrieved her phone and water, and departed, then dropped the items off in her room and grabbing her bedtime clothes before heading off to take a shower.

The warm water cascading over her tired muscles was something that she looked forward to at the end of a long day. After more than two months of getting her body into shape, she was no longer wracked with the pain that she had felt in the beginning, but it took a good amount of self-care to keep it that way.

Sometimes it was hard to believe that she had been there that long. There had come a time when she'd started to question whether she had made the right choice, whether she was capable of continuing on. Being so isolated from her loved ones had made everything much more difficult after the first couple of weeks. But she'd pushed through, focusing on her routine, and gradually it had gotten easier, with the help of the few friends that she had made—particularly a certain tall blonde. Now, she felt better physically than she ever had in the past, and all prior doubt had long since run its course and disappeared. She looked forward to her periodic phone calls with her parents and Lena, and they seemed to have adjusted well to her new life, so she no longer worried about them in the interim. She had even come to enjoy the hardcore training regimen. Especially the simulated missions, which had been occasionally breaking up the repetitive structure of her routine for the last couple of weeks. They were good for Steve as well, since they offered him some effective training with other people. Hearing him command their teams, it was easy for Lucy to see that he had truly earned the title of captain. It was amazing that his previous experience came from his time in the Second World War.

As Lucy wound down from the workout, beneath the soothing spray of the shower, a heavy blanket of fatigue came over her. She rinsed out the rest of the shampoo and turned off the water, barely bothering to dry her hair before returning to her room and crawling gratefully into bed for a solid five hours of sleep.


	11. Chapter 11

**Note:** I got a comment about the story moving slowly, and since I'm unable to reply privately, I wanted to address the subject here. I understand that some people prefer instant gratification with their fanfictions, and that's totally fine, but I like to take the time to flesh out the protagonist's development, so that her motivations and all future events make sense, to allow the reader to connect with her on a deeper level than just her basic actions, and so that she feels more like an established character in the MCU. Nothing that I include is unnecessary. Everything serves the purpose of making the character's progressing mental and emotional states clear, as well giving a sense of the passage of time. Some people might not agree with it, but it's what needs to happen.  
Thanks to everyone who's showing continued interest (as well as all of the new readers who give it a go); it really means a lot, and I love to make people happy with my work. :)  
**P.S.** Stuff's about to go down, and I'm extremely excited about what's to come, especially in the 'Winter Soldier' arc~! I hope you continue to enjoy~

* * *

**Chapter 11**

It had begun as just another day. The morning routine had led into a standard afternoon. This time, Lucy ran from one free-standing wall to the next, taking shot after shot at each consecutive target placed several yards down the field. It only took her one or two rounds per target, and the gun barely recoiled in her rock-solid grip.

After completing the course, she holstered her weapon, and was making her way off of the field when the low hum of an engine approached in the distance, reverberating through the air. The sound was instantly familiar to Lucy, as it was now the third time that she'd heard it, though it had been quite a while. She cast her eyes upward, and wasn't surprised when she saw nothing at first. Then, a dark-grey aircraft materialized in the sky near the landing zone by the facility. The jet descended toward the ground. She had unconsciously stopped in her tracks to watch as it landed, wondering whom it could be carrying. Maybe a new recruit, along with Nick Fury and Natasha. But the landing zone was too far away, and the angle of the hatch didn't allow her to see who walked out.

After the exercise, the group of trainees went back inside, and Lucy headed to the commissary for some welcome sustenance. She had barely taken a seat at one of the tables with her food when she noticed someone approaching. She looked up to see one of the instructors making a beeline for her.

The woman stopped a few feet away and said, "Carlisle, come with me."

Without hesitation, Lucy got up and followed, a bit disappointed at having to postpone her meal, but even more confused as to what was going on. She had nothing scheduled for the next few hours, and she couldn't imagine that she would be in trouble, since she never did anything that she wasn't supposed to. The woman led her through hallway after hallway, eventually passing the lobby. Lucy had never been in this wing of the building, but she immediately recognized it as the direction in which Fury had gone when they had parted ways after he'd first brought her to the compound.

Through glass walls and doors lining the hallways, Lucy saw many official, business-oriented furnishings and equipment, such as computers and desks. The wing was not very busy, but there were a few people engaged in various tasks behind closed doors.

Finally, Lucy was brought to one such door, although this one was frosted for privacy. The instructor opened it for her, and Lucy stepped into the room.

It was an office, like the others, but instead of a technician bent over a computer, Lucy found herself standing before two familiar men: the undersecretary for the World Security Council, and the director of S.H.I.E.L.D. The former was seated behind the desk, and the serious man with the eyepatch stood off to the side.

"Take a seat, Miss Carlisle," said Pierce. He'd made it sound like a request, but it clearly wasn't. Lucy did as she was told, and sat in the empty chair facing the desk, her mind reeling with both curiosity and concern.

Pierce regarded her for a moment before speaking again. "Well, let's get right to it, then." Lucy sat up straight, listening attentively as he continued. "It seems you've been doing exceptionally well in the short time that you've been here. Looks like I didn't make a mistake in recruiting you."

"Thank you, Sir," she replied, and the man went on with hardly a pause.

"It's because of this that you've been chosen for a special project."

Her brows knitted slightly. "A project?" Her eyes shifted to Fury. His face was impassive as he looked back at her, and she returned her gaze to the other man.

"S.H.I.E.L.D. has recently developed something new. It's quite impressive; we really do have the best people." He looked very pleased, as if he were the one responsible. "We need someone with the proper qualifications to be involved in testing. Considering the numbers, you seem to be fit for the job."

She couldn't quite believe what she was hearing. She thought for a few moments, wondering what on Earth they could be wanting to test, and trying to ignore her growing apprehension. She had come too far to keep getting scared off by the unknown. Still, she had to ask, "But . . . why me? I mean, I'm not the only one with good scores."

"Yes, well," Pierce nodded, "truthfully, your actions during The Battle of New York played a part in influencing the decision."

Somehow, Lucy wasn't too surprised by this. She wondered what they had developed. If her handling of the Chitauri gun is what qualified her, then could it be a weapon?

"What will I be testing?" she chanced, hoping that she wasn't overstepping by asking for this information.

But Pierce seemed all too happy to oblige her. "It sounds rather crude, but let's call it a performance enhancer. Totally safe, no external equipment involved. It won't make you Captain America, by any means, but if we can equip all of our agents with it in the future, it would make things a hell of a lot easier for everyone, and operations would become much more efficient."

A performance enhancer. No external equipment. Despite Lucy's determination to not be afraid of the unknown, she couldn't help the trepidation and anxiety that came over her as she realized that she was essentially going to be an experiment. And, from the way that Pierce had broached subject, she didn't appear to have a choice in the matter. She had been chosen. She had to comply.

Pierce must have read the worry in her expression, for he smiled and reassured her, "You're lucky. After this, you'll have the ability to get the most out of your skills. Many people wish to have such an opportunity. I would think, for someone who's so willing to put themselves in the line of fire, there would be nothing better."

His words nullified any desire she might have had to protest. Their slightly passive-aggressive nature reinforced the notion that she was not supposed to argue. She was there to serve the cause and do as she was told. From the moment that she had accepted the man's offer in the restaurant, her life had effectively been forfeit. Maybe even before that. Perhaps, instead of the restaurant, the point at which the events in her life had been taken out of her hands was the moment she had gone for that alien weapon lying in the street. These people had set their sights on her thanks to that. And now it was proving to be a determining factor in her life once again. The first time had turned out to be possibly the best decision that she had ever made. This time, she didn't have such a good feeling—nor did she have a choice. However, she couldn't help but wonder whether she really had a choice back then. Would she have been let off the hook if she had decided to decline the offer? What if she had been seen as a liability, as someone who could connect the undersecretary with S.H.I.E.L.D.? What would have happened to her then? But she couldn't consider such things, for they didn't matter an inch now.

All she could do was nod in compliance, trying to bury her growing anxiety. Her training had primarily been physical, but the level of endurance and perseverance that such a rigorous routine had required called for plenty of mental stamina as well. She had known that someday she would be assigned to dangerous missions, where fear would not be welcome. This may not be what she'd had in mind for her first assignment, but she had to treat it the same as any other mission.

Before she could inquire about any specifics, Pierce spoke up again. "I know it's short notice, but you'll be moved off-site tomorrow." Her blood ran cold. "The rest of your schedule for today has been waived. Take some time to get your things around and relax—you've definitely earned it."

Her eyes involuntarily moved back up to Fury, as if searching for his input, like he had some say in the matter and could give her more time. But he was as stoic as ever.

"We leave at dawn," Pierce added. "Be at the Quinjet by six o'clock,"

Trying to force some resolve to the forefront, Lucy simply uttered, "Yes, Sir," barely preventing her voice from cracking, before getting up from the chair and making her way to the door.

She navigated the cold glass hallways, barely managing to remember the way as she found herself a bit distracted by the cloud of numbness that had quickly descended upon her. Despite the shocked haze, her mind was reeling. She was leaving tomorrow. _Tomorrow._ She only had one night left in what had quickly become her home, before she was to leave for yet another unfamiliar place. Only one more night. It was then that she realized that she didn't know how long she would be gone, which just added to her anxiety.

The next thought that came into her mind was not of her family, nor of her best friend, but of the man whom she had come to rely on for companionship and encouragement over the many grueling weeks. What would she say to him? What would he think? Maybe he didn't put as much stock in their simple friendship as she did, and her absence would hardly faze him. She told herself this in order to ease the worry and guilt that she felt for having to spring the news on him, but she wasn't very convinced. Though it was beyond her control, she felt like she was abandoning him. Despite wanting to put it off, if only to give herself time to adjust to the idea herself and find the right words, she had to tell him tonight.

The farther she walked, the more her head began to clear, and she realized that she would also need to call her parents and Lena, since she had no idea when she would get another opportunity.

Not having much of an appetite anymore, she went straight to her room and collapsed onto her bed, breathing through the overwhelming emotions and trying to reason with herself. _It's going to be okay. It's only temporary, and it's for the future of S.H.I.E.L.D. You're going to be helping people. Just like you wanted. And you're going to be stronger afterward. It's going to be good. This is a good thing._ But all of the pep talk in the world would only manage to lessen her nerves a fraction, so she resorted to telling herself bluntly that there was no point in worrying, since there was nothing that she could do about the situation. However, until she knew exactly what she was in for, the fear was inevitable.

With her restless brain refusing to allow her to stay still, she got up and headed for the showers, since she had yet to freshen up after her recent training exercises.

The warm water only helped a little, but at least it was something. Lucy donned a clean T-shirt and pair of pants and stood in front of the mirror, still feeling out of it as her reflection stared back at her. Her eyes traveled down to the faint discoloration on her arm where the burn from the Chitauri gun had left its scar. Until this point, it had been a symbol of her daring act of bravery and of the huge turn that her life had taken by joining this covert agency. But now, the only thing on her mind as she stared at it was that she might have really gotten herself into something that she would regret, and she sincerely hoped that that wouldn't become the primary thought linked to the battle scar for the rest of her life, however long—or short—that turned out to be.

She returned to her room, hoping to get her head on straight before spending part of her leisurely final day mingling in the training rooms. Perhaps she would even be able to get an hour or two of sleep and wake up feeling better. She closed the blinds over her window and tried to do just that. But no matter how much she tried to relax, she couldn't stop thinking about Steve and what he could be doing and how much she wanted to talk to him, to hear his encouraging words, for he was sure to have some for her. After almost half an hour of forcing herself to try her best to get some shut-eye, she practically launched herself out of bed and left the room, not bothering to open the blinds.

Having no idea where the captain could be, she made the combat room her first stop. There was currently a boxing match in progress, and on the other side of the room, a blade-training session. She briefly remembered how anxious she had been about that in her first week, and how it had turned out to be far less daunting than she'd anticipated. She latched on to that thought as her eyes finished sweeping the room, and hoped that this upcoming task would be no different.

As soon as she saw that the man wasn't there, she moved on, toward the gym.

Not there either.

The commissary was next.

When she failed to spot his familiar broad-shouldered form and blonde hair alone at a far table, she left.

As it turned out, the third time was the charm.

She came to the edge of the field and saw him scaling the first wall in the agility course. She stood beside the few bystanders, each waiting their turn, as he took on the second wall with ease before sprinting to the finish, but she was so focused on how she would be able to pull him aside without drawing too much attention that she was barely paying any mind to his athletic display.

She had begun to move behind the group of people and around the perimeter of the field to the finish line, when Steve, who was taking a long drink from a bottle of water, was approached by an instructor. The woman said something, and Steve put away the water, gave a nod, and the pair set off to the outer edge of the field. Lucy stopped in her tracks as she watched the man take off in a run around the compound, the instructor watching him go, a stopwatch held out before her.

Lucy waited, watching for Steve to make his full circuit. She didn't have long to wait, but when he returned, he didn't stop, immediately taking another lap. More trainees arrived on the field, engaging in their own exercises. When Steve still hadn't stopped after his third lap, Lucy gave up, deciding to wait until she could be guaranteed privacy in approaching her friend. She retreated back into the building, with the goal of actually getting something to eat this time.

The entire time that she sat at the table, she hoped that the captain would show up, but she ended up leaving on her own. She hadn't even seen Jameson or Heather, and she dreaded the prospect of leaving them in the dark if she didn't have the chance to explain her impending absence. She decided to try to find them next, after taking care of another extremely important detail.

Standing alone in the hallway, she picked up the receiver and held it to her ear, punching the number into the secure line.

Her mom picked up, as always.

Lucy had thought about what to say to her, how to avoid the details and hopefully minimize any opportunities for questions, but she was nervous, and now more than ever, she just wanted to spill her guts to the woman on the other end of the line.

It physically hurt to stop herself.

But she put that aside and forced her voice to take on a pleasant tone as she explained to her mother that she was being sent on a kind of trip, and that she might be out of touch for a while—she couldn't say how long. She then asked whether her dad was home, and when her mom said that he wouldn't be back until later that night, she felt her chest tighten, and nearly had tears coming into her eyes. She wanted to hear his voice again, if only for moral support, so she told her mom that she would try to call back later.

She didn't want to say goodbye, but she needed to call Lena, so she managed to sign off cheerfully, and fought back the choked-up feeling as she dialed her friend's number.

A few minutes later, with one of her tasks complete—though she still needed to talk to her dad—she felt slightly better as she made her way back through the halls. She once again visited the training rooms in search of her friends, to no avail, and with all of the walking, the now-full stomach, and the emotionally taxing phone conversations, she felt that she could get some rest now. So she returned to her darkened room and crawled back into bed, setting the alarm on her phone to prevent her from sleeping too long.

She found herself dozing off so easily that she briefly wondered why it had been so difficult the first time.

* * *

Lucy's hope that she would feel much better after a good nap was dashed when she awoke, before her alarm, to a momentarily refreshed state of mind that was quickly overtaken by a heavy cloud of dread. She laid there for several minutes, as if she could make it go away by pretending that she was still asleep. It definitely did not help that she was given the day off, for she had grown so accustomed to having a schedule packed full of physical activity that her brain felt out of its element now.

Sighing, she canceled the alarm and got up, then set to work packing up her belongings. There wasn't much, so it only took a matter of minutes to ensure that everything was back in either one of her two suitcases or her backpack.

The blinds were still closed, but the sunlight peeking around the edges had faded into the orange glow of early evening. As the post-nap fatigue left her, all Lucy wanted to do was get into the gym and give her body and mind something that they were used to.

She spent a while with the free weights, beginning her mental pep talk once again, and this time she found herself starting to relax a bit. Suddenly, her imminent departure didn't seem so frightening. She had been selected for the task, and she would live up to their expectations. Ultimately, S.H.I.E.L.D. knew what they were doing, and she was going to trust Alexander Pierce and Nick Fury. Even though she was now feeling a little better about the situation, she knew that what she really needed was some reassurance and a boost of confidence from Steve. And as it was still much too early for one of their after-hours routines, she would just have to kill time while she waited.

She successfully managed to call her father, which was an additional load off of her mind, and afterward she helped herself to a late dinner. She still hadn't had any luck with finding Jameson or Heather, and she wondered if they might be out on a simulation. If that were the case, she was unlikely to see them before she left. She tried not to let the thought bring her down while she finished her meal.

The evening progressed into night, and finally everyone retired to their quarters for some much-needed sleep. Lucy followed suit, but didn't stay there for long. Though it was earlier than her normal time to arrive at the gym, it was rather pointless for her to wait in her room.

She hopped onto a treadmill and put on some music to keep herself distracted from the nervous anticipation of her talk with Steve. She was eager to get the news off of her chest, but his reaction would likely effect her own outlook going into tomorrow. If he really didn't like the prospect of her going off to be part of some experiment, it would only raise the level of her anxiety. However, considering the fact that he once went through practically the same thing, she hoped that he would encourage her rather than simply worry for her.

An hour passed, and it was nearing their usual meet-up time. Lucy kept a strict eye on the clock, the music no longer mattering very much.

She kept glancing at the door as the minutes ticked by. Maybe he had stopped for a round with a punching bag first. She waited a little longer before it was all too much, and she quickly turned off the machine, grabbed her phone, and left the gym.

The hallway was quiet. And as she approached the combat room, she knew immediately that no one was inside. Her heart sank. Where was he? He was normally there by now—

It felt like ice had suddenly been poured into her veins. She hadn't really considered it a possibility that he wouldn't sow up, because it didn't happen too often anymore. She denied the thought immediately, turning around and heading back to the gym. He was probably just late. It was still too soon to go back to her quarters, and since she'd had a nap, she probably wouldn't need as much sleep as she normally would.

The night drew on, and there was still no sign of the captain. Lucy felt sick with regret. She should have stayed out on the field and waited for him, no matter how long it had taken. She should have put off everything and just waited. Because now, at one o'clock in the morning, she knew that he wouldn't be coming. She felt so alone as she returned to her room. No one would know where she'd gone. SH.I.E.L.D. was sure to keep the entire thing quiet, especially considering that she was leaving before any of the trainees were supposed to be out of bed. There's no way that there would be an announcement explaining her disappearance from the facility. And if there were, it wouldn't be the truth. It was one thing to leave Jameson and Heather in the dark. But it was a whole different story to not say anything to Steve. The thought killed her. He had to be the closest thing to a best friend that she had at this stage in her life, and she knew that she was doing him a huge disservice. He had been through so much, and to effectively abandon him like this felt truly awful. Maybe it was a good thing that she didn't know how long she would be away. It would probably only make the guilt worse.

After stopping into the bathroom, she closed her bedroom door and fought back tears as she crawled into her bed for the last time. Her cellphone screen glared in her face as she set the alarm for five thirty. Then, she resigned herself to her fate and hoped that unconsciousness would overtake her quickly.

The next few hours were fraught with troubled sleep, and when five thirty rolled around, Lucy had a feeling that she'd only gotten around three hours, at the most. She didn't want to leave the bed, but inevitably, the time had come. She hauled herself upright, feeling heavy with fatigue and ill-prepared for what was to come. She reached up and opened the blinds, revealing an expanse of sky that was beginning to lighten from black to a dark blue with the approaching dawn.

She got up and made a last trip to the bathroom, the floor somehow feeling extra cold on her bare feet. Back in her room, she dressed in appropriate clothing, and gathered her three pieces of luggage. Once again, she was taking one final look at a space that had become her home. Before she could dwell on the fact too much, she turned and walked out.

The journey through the corridors and down to the lobby felt long. It was the first time that she had crossed over the S.H.I.E.L.D. logo since her arrival. Outside, she breathed in the crisp early-morning air, embracing it rather than allowing herself to shiver.

The Quinjet waited, dark and still. Someone stood beside the lowered ramp, and it didn't take long for her to identify the long black coat of Nick Fury. After he verified her presence, he turned and entered the jet.

Suddenly, something caught her attention from the corner of her eye, and she turned to look. Her footsteps faltered and it was like someone had her chest in a vice grip. A lone figure was sprinting back and forth across the field. Even in the meager light, she could make out his blonde hair and muscular physique. Before she knew it, she had stopped walking altogether, all of her energy focused on the captain, willing him to look at her. She wanted to call out, to run to him, to jump at the chance that was being presented to her. But then she heard footsteps in front of her, and her eyes darted back to the open hatch. Fury was looking at her from the top of the ramp, and she knew that that look meant that she wasn't supposed to do anything but board the aircraft.

She started walking again, keeping her eyes on the super soldier, silently begging him to turn around. _Turn around . . . Steve, turn around . . . look at me . . . Come on, please!_

Her shoes touched the hard metal incline, and she watched Steve jog to a halt, looking like he was trying to catch his breath.

She was taking just a little too long, she knew that. But she couldn't help dragging out those final moments before the man disappeared from her sight, as she had no idea when she would see him again.

Then, suddenly, miraculously, he turned. It was too dark to see clearly from this distance, but she knew that he was looking right at her. A thrill of hope flooded her system. Could he tell that it was her? She realized that she had paused again, and though seconds had passed, he wasn't moving either. In that moment, she knew that he saw her. And that was good enough.

She continued up the ramp, her heart swarming with mixed emotions. The hatch closed behind her.

Pierce was already seated, and Fury was settling in beside Natasha at the front of the craft as Lucy walked to her own chair and set her bags down. She felt shaken. What if Steve thought that she was leaving for good and had consciously decided not to tell him? The notion only increased her guilt, and she forced it aside, hoping that he didn't think that little of her. Still, without an explanation, he would make assumptions. And she would have no one waiting for her with the knowledge of what she was about to go through.

The jet's engine started up.

_I'm sorry, Steve . . . I'm so sorry . . ._

The aircraft lifted off of the ground.

Going against what she knew to be true, Lucy found herself again hoping that she had been the only one who had truly enjoyed the time that she had spent with the captain, and that her absence wouldn't make much of a difference to him.

Her stomach dropped as the jet accelerated, carrying her off toward the next new phase of her life.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

Lucy arrived, once again, at an unknown location. It was an austere grey building in the middle of another nondescript landscape. A forest surrounded the property, and a series of driveways led to different sections of the facility. It would have been rather unassuming, had it not been for the chain-link fence and security guards. Their presence served to reinforce the importance of the project in which she was about to take part.

Natasha stayed in the jet, while Pierce and Fury accompanied Lucy inside. She was handed off to a female employee who showed her to her new room. It wasn't too different from her quarters at the training facility, which made her feel better. She deposited her things, and was told to wait for a while. She would be called soon. Unlike before, it appeared that she wouldn't be given a day to adjust to the new setting.

Trying to ignore the feeling of psychological whiplash, she waited patiently, attempting to calm the nervous sickness in the pit of her stomach with some smooth jazz. It wasn't nearly as effective as she'd hoped.

The employee returned to fetch her less than half an hour later. Lucy left her phone in her backpack and followed the woman through the hallways, finally coming to a small exam room. As Lucy was taking in the contents of the room and trying not to allow her nerves to get the best of her, the woman handed her a folded piece of fabric.

"Change into this, and leave your clothes on the chair."

The woman left the room, and Lucy unfolded the garment. It was a simple white hospital gown. Burying her discomfort, she changed into the gown, folded her clothes, and left them in a little pile on the chair. A minute later, the woman returned.

"Alright, have a seat, please."

Lucy took her place on the exam table.

Several basic tests were run, and a sample of her blood was taken.

Soon, she was being escorted down another stark hallway. The efficient manner in which she was being thrown into the whole process was a bit daunting. She hadn't expected to get practically no time at all before her role began, but she didn't question anything. Seeing as the project had been in the works for a long time, according to Pierce, everyone was probably eager to get on with this stage. Besides, the sooner she did her part, the sooner she would be done.

The door slid shut behind her. A team of scientists stood around the room, amongst a wide variety of intimidating equipment. In the center of it all was a reclining chair, illuminated by a concentration of bright white light. Lucy stared at it. Everything suddenly felt that much more real.

Each scientist had been focused intently on various monitors and files, but as soon as Lucy had entered, several men and women looked in her direction. One man in particular stepped away from one of the machines and approached her with a smile. "Welcome, Miss Carlisle. Or—would you prefer that we call you Lucy?"

". . . Lucy's fine." She couldn't help her gaze wandering back to the chair.

"Well then, Lucy, welcome to Project Artemis."

The man led her forward.

The recent months had seen her thrust into many new experiences, most requiring more adjustment than others, but it wasn't until she was secured to the padded chair beneath the glaring white light, her thin garment making her feel exceedingly vulnerable, that she felt a level of fear that she hadn't experienced even in the midst of the war-torn New York streets. All of the events that had led up to this moment flashed through her mind as the scientists busied themselves with the machinery around her. She had made all of the right decisions. She knew that. She had done the right thing by taking up arms against the aliens, by joining S.H.I.E.L.D.

But what was she doing here? How had it come to _this?_

A woman approached her side and began to wipe down her arm with something cold and wet, then pressed a small wired sensor to her skin. She moved on and repeated the process until several wires trailed from various vital points on Lucy's body, connecting her to nearby monitors. A steady electronic beeping that matched the rate of her pounding heart could be heard in the background. In that moment, she realized that she was truly at the mercy of these people.

Was this how Steve had felt?

"Readings steady."

She squinted against the light.

The man who had met her at the door looked down at her. "Alright, Lucy. Here we go."

She managed to give a nod of false confidence, as if consenting to the procedure, though she knew that she had already consented the moment she'd made S.H.I.E.L.D. her future. It probably wouldn't even make a difference to them if she were to suddenly protest outright—but she didn't want to think of the possibility of such heartless people being in full control of her right now.

Instead, her thoughts turned back to the captain. The super soldier.

_Steve . . ._

The light glared down at her. The incessant beeping in the background served as a constant reminder of how scared she was. She just wished that it wouldn't let everyone else know, too.

Despite that, she longed for Steve to be there. He would understand what she was going through, at least a little. She wouldn't feel so alone. For that matter, it would be enough if he just knew what she was going through. If only she had told him—

She felt a needle prick at the sensitive interior of her elbow, and her mind went temporarily blank, all thoughts of the blonde man leaving her. She squeezed her eyes shut, as if doing so would allow her to block out the discomfort, as well as reality itself.

* * *

Incessant alerts from the monitors filled the lab.

"BP is dropping."

"Adjust the levels; try again."

The scientists scrambled to stop the girl's vitals from crashing.

"Cardiac arrest!"

"Damnit. Bring her back!"

The single indefinite tone of the flatline lingered on as the defibrillator was employed.

From behind the observation window, the director and the undersecretary watched the proceedings, neither of the men's faces exuding much emotion.

"This'll set us back," Pierce muttered to his counterpart, his gaze not leaving the unconscious girl reclined flat on her back in the chair.

"Give her a chance," Fury stated.

The defibrillator gave another shock to her heart, and after several tense seconds, the monotonous flatline broke up into several slow but steady beeps, and the technician announced, "We got her!"

"Make sure she's stable," the head scientist replied, "then adjust the dosage."

Fury's eye narrowed minutely as he silently willed the girl to be just what they were hoping for. For her own sake.

* * *

Lucy awoke to a white ceiling. Her body felt as if it were filled with lead. And there was something covering her nose and mouth. In spite of her inability to lift her hand to investigate, she realized that it was an oxygen mask. Her brows knitted in pain. Her entire body ached. She blinked against the selectively lit fluorescent panels in the ceiling, then took a strained look around. She wasn't in her room.

She thought back to what had happened in the lab. She didn't remember falling unconscious. Was it over? Was that it? How long had she been under? What had they done to her? When would this pain go away?

Too much to think about. No point in wondering right now.

She closed her eyes again and just breathed.

If only she could go back to sleep and escape the pain.

She wasn't sure how much time had passed, but her body still hurt when the door opened and a woman entered. Lucy looked over at the woman who approached her bed with a customary smile.

"How are you feeling?" the woman asked, simultaneously attending to an I.V. drip connected to Lucy's arm, which Lucy had only just noticed.

It took the girl a moment to reply. Having not spoken in a while, her voice came out weak and slightly broken, and all she could say was, "It hurts . . ."

"I'm sorry that we can't give you anything for the pain," the woman said matter-of-factly. "It would hinder the bonding process."

Lucy didn't ask for an explanation of what that term meant. She didn't even want to think about what it _could_ mean—about what was happening to her body. But she now knew that she wasn't out of the woods yet. And so far, the only difference that she felt was the pain.

* * *

Her hazy vision swam with the glaring white light. Unlike the first time, she was still conscious, but barely aware of what was going on around her. As soon as the pain had dissipated, they had brought her back into the lab. Her body felt heavy. Then, she felt a sharp pressure on her neck, and a wave of heat began to seep into her bloodstream. She screwed her eyes shut, and her breaths came faster, in an attempt to battle the growing discomfort. She could hear voices, but they were too muffled for her to be able to make out the words. However, that wasn't important. Her mind was too focused on the sensations wracking her body.

She soon learned to divert her focus to something else. Something that would distract her from the discomfort, pain and fear. And the first thing that came to mind was always the captain. _I'll get through this,_ she told herself, lying in the chair, taking every injection and test that they inflicted upon her. _I'm almost done. Then I'll go back and explain everything to him. This won't be forever._

But it began to feel like forever.

Again and again she would be moved from the lab to the recovery room, and back again. Eventually her sense of time distorted. She could have been there for a week, or a month, or only a few days. But she didn't dare ask, afraid to know the answer. Knowing wouldn't get her out of there any faster, anyway.

Finally, she came out of one of the "treatments"—as she had begun to think of them—alert enough to stand. Her legs trembled as her feet touched the floor, while the doctors watched in appreciation. She was worried that she would collapse, but didn't let that sway her. This was a huge step. If she was no longer bedridden, then that must mean that she was in the final stage. It could only look up from here—she thought.

* * *

She lay face-down on the table. Her heart would have been pounding if the injection hadn't forcibly begun to slow it dramatically. Staring at the floor through the gap in the headrest, her vision started to blur. _No fear,_ she ordered herself. _Fear won't help you._

From somewhere above her, a sharp buzzing sound commenced.

_No fear._

But fear was the last thing that she felt before blacking out.

* * *

Her head hurt. A powerful ache filled her skull, concentrated at the base, in the back. And there was an external pressure enveloping her head. In addition to the worrisome pain and the other, strange, disconcerting sensation, something didn't feel right. She just didn't know what.

She weakly raised a hand to her head, and her fingers met with a layer of bandages. Her pulse sped up as she began to panic. What had they done to her? She lifted her other hand as well, feeling the extent of the bandages' coverage. Her fingers continued to roam, and her mind began to clear the longer that she was awake. Suddenly she realized what exactly had felt so wrong. The gauze around her skull seemed rather thin. And no matter where she touched around the bandages, she could not feel a single strand of her hair protruding from beneath them.

The panic really set in now.

She wanted to rip off the gauze and leap out of bed, terrified that her suspicion was correct.

She was so traumatized that she barely noticed the rapid beeping of the heart-rate monitor beside the bed and the footsteps hurrying toward the room.

The doctors burst in and tried to subdue the panic-stricken girl. They reasoned with her, trying to calm her down, before attempting to hold her steady. A man who was trying to grab one of her legs was knocked abruptly to the floor, and a woman who had grasped her right arm was thrown off. With the arrival of backup, the team was finally able to hold her down while a tranquilizer was administered.

Lucy's body calmed, and her terrified mind faded mercifully into darkness once again.

* * *

She felt like she was in a prolonged and fluctuating doze, coming out of the darkness briefly, then returning. Sometimes dreams graced her sleep, giving her something to focus on, but also a false sense of the passage of time, which only made it more confusing when she would awaken to the same cold room, feeling like she was in a never-ending repetitive limbo.

She was running through the streets of New York City, dodging buildings as they fell, leaping efficiently over destroyed cars and large chunks of rubble. She threw the large metal disc on her left arm, knocking down one of the advancing aliens. The disc returned to her in a blur of red, white and blue.

Her captain's wonderfully familiar voice echoed in her earpiece, telling her to withdraw. She was about to protest, eyeing the growing swarm of Chitauri in front of her, when the voice was suddenly no longer Steve's.

_"Bring her out."_

"Who is this?" she demanded, worry knitting her sweat-coated brow. "Captain?! Steve!"

Something tugged at her consciousness.

"No! Wait!"

The chaos and destruction of her surroundings dissolved, and she was now staring at the insides of her eyelids. Her heart sank as she tried to will herself back into the false reality, knowing that, despite the war, it was much better than what she was coming back to, no matter how brief and shallow the wakefulness.

However, this time it was neither shallow, nor brief. She felt herself becoming fully alert, though when she tested her muscles, they were still difficult to manipulate. As she listened to the activity around her, the fear, which she had been exempt from while unconscious, came rushing back. She didn't want to open her eyes. She didn't want to know what had been done to her.

She felt like a coward.

Whether she had known it at the time or not, this is what she had committed to when she'd agreed to change her entire life. Whatever had happened to her—however she'd been changed—she would accept it. She would not allow herself to feel like a victim. She would not walk out of there weaker. And she wouldn't let all of her hard work of the past months be undermined by these new emotional hangups over something that was beyond her control. She had a job to do.

So she opened her eyes.

* * *

The young woman staring back at her in the mirror seemed so unfamiliar. The short hair that barely covered her ears was a shocking difference, but more than that, she looked so weary, almost broken. But it was precisely that that made it obvious that she was looking at herself. She could see the evidence of everything that she had been through written across every inch of her face. When the bandages had been removed, and she had finally gotten a look at herself, she'd expected to finally break down and cry. But, as it turned out, she'd managed to withhold the tears, effectively having come to terms with her situation before being forced to behold the results of Project Artemis.

Aside from her new haircut and exhausted countenance, there was nothing to visibly signify the physical changes within her. But she could feel them. At first, she had felt no different. But the longer that she was awake, the more she noticed how much easier it felt to simply move, as if her muscles weren't trying so hard. The only pain was now an occasional twinge in the back of her skull. But her body was just part of it. Mentally, she practically felt like another person. She hoped that that would pass. She didn't want to feel any more displaced than she already did.

She leaned over the sink, dropping her gaze from the mirror, and turned on the faucet. She felt a fraction better after dousing her face in the cold water. After she straightened up, a dark figure appeared in the doorway behind her. She looked up to meet the gaze of his lone eye in the mirror.

"Looking good," he said, his expression impassive.

Lucy couldn't help the small, unexpected laugh that escaped her. She had never heard Fury make a joke, but that statement certainly qualified as one.

"At least this is probably as 'good' as I'll have to look," she replied. It felt strange to talk again, and her voice was out of practice. It felt even stranger to say anything to the stoic director that resembled banter. But it definitely helped to lighten her mood, for which she was very grateful.

She thought that she saw the corner of Fury's mouth quirk up into an almost nonexistent smile.

After a moment of silence, he spoke again. "You ready to get out of here?"

Even though she had been expecting—hoping—to leave the facility soon, she hadn't been prepared for the feeling of utter relief that flooded her system upon hearing those words. Was it all finally over?

"Yes, Sir," she said firmly as she nodded, swallowing down the emotions that were suddenly welling up inside of her chest.

"Good. We leave tonight. Twenty-one hundred hours."

And he was gone, his footfalls fading as he left the connected room and made his way down the corridor.

Lucy turned her gaze back to the mirror, staring into her own eyes, finally allowing the wellspring of emotions to rise to the surface. She could hardly believe that it was finally time. At last, she was getting out of this place.

But the joy diminished slightly as worry crept in. She still didn't know how long she had been at the facility, and with her prolonged periods of unconsciousness and the intense disorientation that she had experienced at every turn, she had no way of predicting how much time had passed—other than the growth of her hair. She had quickly deduced that the doctors had shaved it off completely, which she suspected had something to do with why her head had been in so much pain after the fact—though she wouldn't dwell on that. Her hair was now a few inches long.

She had never had short hair before. What would her parents think? Or Lena—or Steve? Her chest tightened. The thought of him seeing her like this stirred up some fresh butterflies in her stomach. Of course, she had no idea when she would see the captain again. She didn't even know where Fury would be taking her from here. And as there was nothing that could be done about her appearance, worrying was pointless. Besides, something told her that Steve wouldn't care in the least. If anything, he would be concerned, and Lucy's heart ached at the thought. She couldn't deny that she was dying to see him—to apologize for disappearing, and explain everything—but she didn't want to be a source of worry for him. Their relationship had always been simple, easy, pleasant. She didn't want that to be compromised. But a voice of reason inside of her said that there was no way that things could just return to how they were before. His life had gone on after she'd left, and nothing that had happened to either of them since then could be ignored. Still, a flicker of hope remained within her that Fury had in fact explained the situation to the captain, and her friend hadn't been left in the dark after all. It was a very small hope, but she decided to cling to it anyway.

* * *

She took up her bags—still packed and sitting just the way that she had left them on the day of her arrival—and walked out of the room that she had never used, wasting no time in retracing the route through the facility to the exit. It felt good to be dressed in real clothes again. The luggage was a bit easier to handle now, which allowed her to make quick work of the hallways. She spotted the exterior door, and her heart pounded with excitement as she pushed through and stepped outside, breathing in the fresh, cool night air for the first time in—what was probably quite a while.

The Quinjet had never looked so wonderful. The ramp was down, waiting for her. She realized that this was the first time that she was boarding the aircraft without any sense of trepidation or anxiety. In fact, after what she'd just been through, the jet felt like a home away from home.

She sat down behind Fury and the redhead in the pilot's seat.

Natasha looked over her shoulder. "Welcome back," she said as the engine started up.

Lucy smiled her first real smile in a long time. "Thanks."

The Quinjet lifted off. Lucy's stomach dropped with the sudden upward motion, but her heart soared. She was free.

Well, as free as she would ever be as an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D.

The flight was calming, and Lucy was finally able to truly relax. The hum of the engine nearly lulled her to sleep, but she was too eager to discover their destination, and she had spent enough time sleeping as of late.

At last, she felt the jet begin its descent, and the moment that the ramp lowered, she was up, bags in hand.

She had barely made it halfway down the ramp, toward the dark landing platform, when an incredible feeling of relief overcame her at the sight of the instantly recognizable building.

She was home.

* * *

The elevator came to a stop, and the doors opened. He made his way down the all-too-familiar corridor. Once again, he couldn't sleep. Maybe his mind was too keyed up after the simulated raid. All he knew was that he didn't particularly want to visit an empty training room tonight.

He entered the combat room, not bothering to continue on and check the gym. He had stopped expecting her to show up quite a while ago. He had clearly seen her bags with her when she'd boarded the Quinjet, but she hadn't said anything about being transferred. He trusted that there was a reason for that. Considering that it was S.H.I.E.L.D., it could be any number of things. He had worried about her for a while, but as he had also seen Fury enter the jet, his concern wasn't too long-lived. He trusted the man enough. And considering how well Lucy had been doing with her training, she could probably take care of herself, wherever she ended up.

As for himself, he had grown so accustomed to having someone to talk to that it had taken him a while to adjust to being alone again. It would be a relief when he could get back into the field. His brief stint in the Avengers had shown him what his life had been missing since waking up in this new world. He was meant to protect and serve. But S.H.I.E.L.D. had thought it necessary to get him up to speed with how they did things, and equip him with modern tactics and advanced combat skills before sending him out on missions. His brief sparring sessions with Natasha these past few weeks had been quite instructive, but with his strength, despite how tough, capable and resilient the woman was, he was always afraid to take things too far. He wasn't used to fighting friends.

Keeping the lights low, he crossed the floor to the nearest punching bag. As soon as his fist made the first blow, he knew that this would turn out to be better than just lying in bed.

He attacked the bag at a reasonable pace, letting his mind wander. As usual, his thoughts strayed to his past, which, to him, was only a matter of months ago. Memories of the war still haunted him: the soldiers he had seen die; the grotesque visage of Red Skull; his final battle, culminating in that perilous flight over Arctic waters; those sunset-filled clouds that would have been beautiful in a different scenario; Peggy's voice, telling him to not be late—

He hit the bag with increased force as an invisible hand put his heart in a vice grip.

Peggy's face was directly in front of him as she pulled him into a kiss that he hadn't been prepared for—one that he hadn't had any time to fully appreciate.

His jaw clenched as he beat the bag harder.

Bucky was thrown through the gaping hole in the side of the train.

Another furious punch.

Steve thrust out his arm as he watched his best friend dangle from the bent metal rod, the icy ravine rushing by, far below.

His blows to the bag came faster.

_"Grab my hand!"_

The rod broke, and his guts felt like they had been ripped out as his friend plummet to his death, his scream splitting the air, then fading rapidly by the moment until he was gone.

His fist collided with the punching bag so hard that it ripped one of the chains from the ceiling. He stopped abruptly, panting as the bag swung crookedly in front of him. He had let himself get lost in his own head again.

For several long seconds, he just stood there, trying to calm his breathing and control his thoughts as the adrenaline slowly began to subside.

He steadied the bag, and had just started to refocus when a sound from behind him caught his attention, breaking through any lingering fragments of memory, pulling him back to the present moment and redirecting his mind to something he'd thought that he had given up on.

He half-turned, his full attention on the familiar dimly lit figure standing in the open doorway.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

Her arrival went unnoticed. It was quite late, and everyone had retired to their quarters for the night. But as she walked through the halls to her room, as quickly as she could, tempted to break into a jog, she hoped that not _everyone_ had had success with sleeping.

She almost went straight to the training rooms, but didn't exactly want the awkward bags to accompany her. She practically threw them onto the floor by her bed, barely stepping through the door, before rushing off to the elevator. The ride down seemed much longer than she remembered. Her heart pounded as the seconds ticked by, and finally the doors opened.

It was surreal to be back here. If it weren't for the subtle changes in her body—and the loss of her long hair—she might have felt as though she'd never left. Her mind whirled and her emotions were starting to overcome her as she made her way down the hallway. If he were in one of those rooms up ahead, what would she say? The answer came immediately. Regardless of what he may know about her disappearance, or how he may feel, he needed to know that she'd had no intention of leaving without an explanation. An apology would come before anything else.

She didn't have far to walk before she heard the tell-tale sound of the punching bag in use, and for the second time in only a few minutes, an incredible feeling of relief swept through her. He was actually there. She almost couldn't believe it. Her pace quickened, but when she neared the room, she slowed, coming to a stop a few feet from the door. The nerves in the pit of her stomach were coming on more strongly than she'd felt in long time.

As the blows to the punching bag filled the background, she tried to calm down and organize her thoughts for what she was about to say. Then, suddenly, she realized that there was something off about the incessant hits resonating from within the room. They sounded more forceful than she was used to. The rate and power increased rapidly, until a particularly loud punch was accompanied by a sharp _TING,_ then all noise ceased.

Cautiously, Lucy crept forward, suddenly worried for her friend, but wary of interrupting what could be an intense situation. Once she was directly in front of the door, she thought that she could hear the distinct sound of heavy breathing. She hesitated for a few seconds more, then, unable to put it off any longer, firmly grasped the handle and opened the door.

The selective lighting in the spacious room cascaded over the lone man standing by the opposite wall. His head was bowed, his hands on the sides of the bag. His heaving breaths were all that could be heard. The sight brought Lucy right back to her very first encounter with the man, in this very room. That felt like such a long time since then, and yet, like it could have been only a week ago. After what she had heard from the hallway, she'd become even more unsure of how to approach him. But, as it turned out, she didn't have time to think about that.

Barely two seconds after she opened the door, Steve turned.

Her heart did something funny as he looked at her. His expression was complex, as if he were feeling too many things at that moment. But any tension that had been there quickly eased into something between relief and disbelief. This scenario was all too familiar. But this time, Lucy spoke first.

"Steve—"

"Lucy?" He had moved away form the bag, taking one slow step closer to her, then another.

She came into the room fully, letting go of the door. "I'm so sorry—I tried to find you, to explain everything—"

"What happened? Where were you?"

She would have flinched at his strong tone if she hadn't already grown accustomed to the way that he spoke. He wasn't angry; he was confused and concerned.

She took several more steps toward him. "I was assigned to a special project at another facility. I had to leave the next morning. I'm so sorry—"

"Special project?" He knitted his brow. Lucy was about to begin her elaboration on the subject when he spoke again. "What happened to your hair?"

Lucy averted her eyes from his, suddenly self-conscious. She had been so glad to see him, and so caught up in the moment, that she had temporarily forgotten how different she must look to him. "It's . . . kind of a long story."

She was finally opening her mouth to launch into the explanation that she had been dying to give him since before she'd left, but as soon as she turned her eyes back to him, her brain froze. He had advanced quickly, and was now mere feet away. His expression and his suddenly close proximity almost made her take a step back, but she held her ground. He slowed as he neared her, reached out, and gently grasped her shoulders. Her face burned under his scrutiny, and her heart pounded at the sudden physical contact. She shouldn't be reacting this way, she thought. This level of contact was nothing compared to their small sparring sessions or the quick tousle that they'd had when she'd attempted to surprise him with a sneak attack. But this simple display of concern somehow made her want to shrink down into herself. Had she really gotten so uncomfortable around him in such a short time? Even if she didn't know how long she'd been away, it hadn't felt like very long, thanks to her extended periods of unconsciousness and disorientation. She wondered about this for a second or two, before realizing why she had instinctively shied away from him: It wasn't only her hair that looked different. She didn't want him to see her like this. But it was pointless to try to avoid the situation, for he was staring closely at her face, and his increasingly worried expression made it clear that her pallor had not yet improved, nor, she assumed, had the weariness in her features. The captain was much too observant in the darkened room.

Her eyes fell, unable to hold his intense gaze.

His grip on her tightened ever so slightly.

"What'd they do to you?"

She looked back up at him then, and said, in a voice much weaker than she had expected, "I'm not entirely sure."

Right away, she could see that that probably hadn't been the best thing to say, and she hurried to try to ease his pained and perhaps slightly horrified expression by unloading as much information onto him as she could about Project Artemis, reassuring him that everything that had been done to her was for the good of S.H.I.E.L.D. His hands fell back to his own sides as he listened, brow knitted in contemplation. She wasn't sure that the full explanation wouldn't just make him more upset, however, so she omitted or glossed over certain details. Like how much her skull had hurt after waking up with a shaved head. Or how she had utterly lost it and had to be heavily sedated.

"It took me a while to wake up after the surgery . . . and my hair was like this. That was only a couple of days ago . . ."

"They let you leave that soon?"

"I'd much rather be here than there," she insisted. "I've spent too much time asleep, doing nothing. As soon as they were done with me, I wanted to get out of there." Then, a bit quieter, she said, "It's all felt like one big dream . . . I couldn't tell when it was day or night, and no matter how much I slept, I was never able to stay awake for very long in between. It was the best news ever when Fury told me that we were leaving."

Steve didn't say anything.

Hoping that she hadn't given him too much to think about, she tried to lighten the mood. "I was glad to see that this place doesn't seem to have changed. I mean . . . you're still here." She forced her features into what she hoped was a soft and pleasant smile. "I kept wondering whether they would send you off and have you working with the Avengers by the time I got out. Though, I guess it would take a little longer than a few weeks for them to be done with you."

Her joke fell flat as she noticed that his concerned expression hadn't changed. Her smile faded, and she asked hesitantly, "What . . . ?"

"Lucy . . ." He paused, seeming a bit unsure, but only for a moment. His clear blue eyes bored into her. "You've been gone almost two months."

Her stomach dropped.

_What . . . ?_

No. It couldn't have been that long. She couldn't have missed that much time. Her mind started to race, her thoughts immediately turning to her parents and Lena. Business assignment or not, surely they hadn't expected her to be out of contact for two months. Dread seeped into her stomach at the thought of having to deal with that backlash.

Suddenly, Steve's strong hands were on her upper arms. "Hey . . . it's okay." He squeezed gently, attempting to give her the strength to stop the panic before it overtook her. She found herself staring at his chest, grateful for his support, but still feeling taken off guard by the sudden contact. She took a slow breath to calm herself, then Steve spoke again, a sort of sad note to his voice that she hadn't heard in a long time. "Believe me . . . I know how it feels to miss a long period of time."

Lucy looked up into his face, her distress suddenly lessening significantly. It was the first time that he had spoken to her of his past, let alone his personal feelings about it. He was gazing down at her tenderly with the softest smile, wistful and filled with regret. Her heart ached powerfully. Of course he knew what she was feeling. And he cared enough to allow those memories to resurface, just to make her feel better. But she didn't want to see that pain on his face. She didn't want to be the reason for that. Especially because, compared to what he had been through, she had no right to complain.

"Steve . . ." She had the sudden strong urge to wrap her arms around him and make him stop thinking about those painful memories—when suddenly, his gaze moved from her to something behind her. His expression shifted back to a more neutral state, the look in his eyes more serious. His hands dropped from her arms once again.

"Natasha."

Lucy turned abruptly and spotted a feminine silhouette in the open doorway, leaning against the frame. The short bob of red hair was visible even in the shadows. _Natasha?_

"Hey, Soldier." Her soft, slightly husky tone was more matter-of-fact than flirtatious.

_How long has she been there . . . ?_

Natasha Romanoff walked slowly into the room. Her eyes were now on Lucy. "You should get some sleep."

Lucy suddenly felt out of place. Between the three of them, she knew that she was the youngest, and Natasha clearly ranked above her, but she couldn't help the twinge of irritation at being dismissed and sent off to bed. Especially after having her conversation with Steve interrupted like that. Still, the woman was right. Lucy was exhausted, and who knew what was in store for her now that she was back at the training facility? Sleep was probably a good idea. And the moment that she and the captain had shared was over now.

Regretfully she gave a nod and turned back to the man in front of her. "Thank you . . . I'll see you later."

"Goodnight, Lucy," he replied as she turned to go. She passed Natasha without a glance, feeling another unwelcome emotion prod at her heart as she left the beautiful redhead in the room with the captain.

* * *

As it turned out, sleep had indeed been the best choice, and Lucy awoke the next morning wishing that she had gotten more of it. How could she still be so tired after having rested so much over the last few weeks? She turned onto her back, preparing herself for the day. Despite the fatigue, she was looking forward to getting back into the swing of things and feeling like herself again. She wanted to feel like a capable field agent again, not a helpless lab rat.

The first thing that she wanted to do was call her parents and Lena, but it was too early, and, as usual, she would have other things to do first.

As soon as she set foot in the commissary, the eyes of her peers turned to her. She had expected as much, and managed to ignore the stares as she brought a tray of food to the farthest corner table that she could find. Luckily, everyone soon went back to minding their own business.

It didn't take long for Heather to track her down. The girl flung her arms around Lucy, expressing her concern for her well-being—quite taken aback by Lucy's new hairstyle—and begging to be filled in on whatever had happened to her. Of course, telling Steve had been one thing, but Lucy knew, without even having to give it any thought, that she shouldn't go around telling just anyone. It was up to S.H.I.E.L.D. to make that call. So, she gave Heather the same line that she had given her mom, dad and best friend. The girl took it well. It definitely helped that she understood S.H.I.E.L.D. more than Mr. and Mrs. Carlisle did.

"I looked for you guys before I left. I'm sorry I couldn't tell you."

"That's okay, I get it. And Jameson would too, if he were here."

Lucy frowned. "Where is he?"

"They transferred him out last month," Heather replied, casting her gaze to the rest of the room. "I wish I could've gone with him. Can't wait to get out of here." She then looked back to Lucy. "Must have been nice to go somewhere else for a while."

_Nice is hardly the word . . ._

"It's actually good to be back." She took another bite of her food.

"Well, it shouldn't be too much longer now. I've improved a lot since you left," Heather grinned happily.

"That's great." Lucy returned the smile, but a sudden stab of pain in her head transformed it momentarily into a grimace, and she dropped her attention to her plate, taking a second to recover before scooping up another forkful, hoping that Heather hadn't noticed. Luckily, the girl seemed to still be focused on the thought of her exam scores. Thinking fast, Lucy kept the conversation going, hoping to distract her in case another wave of pain came. "I would've thought the captain would be gone by now."

"Hm? Oh, they actually just started having him train with Black Widow a couple of weeks ago. I guess his current talents with that shield weren't enough."

Lucy stopped eating immediately. _Black Widow's been here? Wait . . ._

"He's been sparring?"

"Yeah. It's pretty amazing to watch. Black Widow may not be a super soldier, but she can really hold her own." Then, Heather leaned in across the table, lowering her voice a bit. "But I think he goes easy on her. I mean, if he didn't, she probably wouldn't walk away from it."

Lucy considered this and concurred with a nod and small grimace. After having seen what the man could do with a bulldozer, she had no doubt that Heather was right.

The other girl went back to sitting normally. "But that doesn't matter, she's just teaching him new fighting styles. Next time they're at it, you should go watch. It's pretty impressive."

"Yeah, I'll do that . . ." Lucy slowly took another bite of food. So, Steve was getting the same training as the rest of them after all. Actually, anything that another Avenger could teach him might be a step above what Lucy had learned so far. And even with him holding back his full strength, seeing the two go head-to-head must be quite the sight. She wondered how much Steve had been holding back when he'd fought the Chitauri. Or maybe he hadn't been at all; she had no idea how strong the aliens were.

Having finished the rest of her meal, Lucy left Heather to her own breakfast and headed off to the gym for a warmup. There was one other person present, utilizing the free weights, but he paid her no mind as she entered. Stepping onto the treadmill was so familiar, it was like she had never left. Despite her fatigue, she easily settled into a steady walk, careful not to overdo it right after eating, and refocused her mind on the future and not her experiences of the past two months. She missed her music, but thought it inappropriate to plug into her phone during the day.

Her thoughts wandered, accompanied by an undercurrent of urgency to contact her parents and Lena, but she managed to overcome it, knowing that it would be handled soon, and eventually just enjoyed the mild exercise.

When a commotion from down the hall reached her ears, she wasn't sure how long she had been walking. Psychologically, she knew that it must have been more than thirty minutes, but judging by how she felt physically, it couldn't have been more than five or ten. Distant grunts and what sounded like grappling became temporarily louder as someone pushed through the door, in a hurry to leave the gym. Lucy glanced up at the clock. She had been walking for nearly forty-five minutes. Wondering at her body's extremely minor level of exhaustion, she quickly hopped off of the machine, not bothering with a drink of water, and made her way down the hall, curiosity peaked.

She entered the combat room to find a small gathering of trainees, all intently watching the pair in the boxing ring. Her eyes lit up with recognition, landing first on Steve, his stance strong and utterly focused, his blonde hair looking slightly tousled in places. She hadn't seen him in hand-to-hand combat since the streets of New York. Their simplistic and brief practice sessions with each other didn't count for much in comparison. And this was the first time that she was seeing him fight without his uniform. His taut muscles were pronounced beneath his snug T-shirt, which rode up just slightly as he maneuvered to get a temporary hold on his opponent. Despite being slightly distracted by the sight of the captain, it only took a couple of seconds for Lucy to realize whom he was fighting. The shock of red hair was a distinct giveaway.

_Why is Natasha—_ she wondered, but then the pieces clicked into place, and she almost felt foolish for not seeing it sooner, though there was really no way that she could have. Natasha was Black Widow.

Lucy stood at the back of the group of spectators, continuing to observe the intense matchup as the two Avengers wrestled with each other, threw punches, blocked kicks, and occasionally pinned each other down. Lucy's mind returned briefly to the previous night, and that annoying feeling in the pit of her stomach snuck back in as Steve wrapped one arm around the redhead's waist and secured her arms to her sides, before she broke free and gave him a slight jab to the abdomen. Seemingly unfazed, he came at her again, but Natasha dodged and leapt up onto his back, encircling him with her legs, locking her ankles against his stomach, and putting him in a chokehold. He grimaced, grabbing at her arm around his neck and backing up into one of the four corner poles of the ring, but not with enough force to do harm to the woman, Lucy noticed. The spectators reacted with enthusiastic support for both parties. Natasha held firm.

"Give up yet, Soldier?"

After a few more seconds, Steve tapped her arm, and she released him, landing nimbly on the floor of the ring, and gave him a friendly pat on the back. "Good work. You pass for today."

As she ducked out of the ring, receiving many stares of admiration from the others—and smiles from the boys—who cleared aside to let her through, Lucy caught the slightly sarcastic eyebrow raise that the captain gave the redhead's retreating back.

Lucy knew that, with his strength and stamina, Steve could have held out much longer and easily overpowered the slight, non-super-powered woman. Despite Natasha's mildly cocky attitude toward her victory, she surely knew that as well. As least, with training like this, if Steve were ever in that sort of position in the field, he would be prepared and wouldn't have a problem taking out his opponent.

Natasha walked past Lucy, heading for the door, and thanks to the skin-tight tank top and leggings, Lucy couldn't help but notice, for the first time, what good shape the woman was in. Her physical ability was clearly a league above what Lucy was used to, and watching her in action was definitely a sight to behold. After a nearly two-month hiatus, Lucy's own muscles had lost some of their tone, though it wasn't as bad as she had expected. Considering that Natasha had probably been at this for quite a while, Lucy didn't expect to reach her level just within her time at the facility, but she hoped that she would someday be able to match the skills of Black Widow.

* * *

The afternoon sun disappeared behind a large expanse of thick clouds, providing a nice bit of shade for the trainees on the field. Lucy stood in line, waiting for her turn to run the obstacle course. Whether it was thanks to the food, the warmup in the gym, or the sunshine, she wasn't quite sure, but she was feeling significantly better than when she'd woken up that morning. As she watched the others sprint across the grass and scale the walls, she was almost bouncing on the balls of her feet in anticipation. She'd never thought that she would miss running the course so much. She looked over to where Steve and Natasha stood at the finish line. Steve had gone first, setting a metaphorical bar for the rest of the trainees. It must have become a regular occurrence while Lucy had been away, for nobody had seemed taken aback by the captain's inclusion into the group's routine.

At last, it was Lucy's turn. She was off in no time flat, her legs carrying her quickly to the tires. After having taken such a long break, she was surprised at how easy it was to get through the first obstacle.

She threw herself underneath the razor wire and dragged herself to the other side without as much struggle as she remembered. With practically no effort, she was on her feet again. It felt so good to run.

Her arms carried her easily across the monkey bars, her grip solid with each swing. The ease of the task was thrilling, and with one final swing she dismounted, landing a good two meters from the bars.

She took the balance beam in just a few effortless strides, barely wobbling at all, and, though out of practice, somehow confident that she wouldn't mess up her ankle. At this rate, she might be giving Captain America a run for his money, she thought offhandedly, her muscles still not screaming in protest. This definitely wasn't natural. Whatever had been done to her in that lab, perhaps the outcome really was worth it.

It took one easy leap and one hand to guide her over, and she had cleared the first wall. She looked up at the second. She felt like she was on some kind of high, because she had never expected to ever be excited to take on the fifteen-foot obstacle. She charged onward, eager to see what she could do.

In mere seconds she was cresting the top. She took a glance around the field and to the trees beyond, eyes glinting with wonder, a smile spreading across her face. As she adjusted her grip to come down the other side, a small twinge of discomfort in her head dampened her mood slightly. With it came a brief wave of dizziness, but she attributed it to being so high up, and as soon as the pain vanished, she dropped to the ground, her legs doing a nice job of absorbing the impact.

She ran for the first trench, gauging the distance and the proper time to jump.

As she pushed off, another quick stab of pain pierced her skull. She winced in midair, but managed to land successfully, and didn't let it affect her as she approached the second trench, though her smile had faded. She cleared the final obstacle and took off for the finish.

She had made it only a few meters when the pain returned. It was more than a little twinge this time. Her steps faltered and her eyes squinted against the white-hot ache. The last thing that she wanted was to fail at the very end, after such an impressive run, and to make a scene by collapsing in front of the trainees, the instructors, Natasha—and Steve. Her mind was suddenly filled with flashes of memory as she recalled lying in the rubble-strewn street, totally helpless as she looking up at the blonde man kneeling over her. She had never wanted to feel that powerless again. She didn't want to be a burden. She didn't want to go down in front of all of these people, out of the blue, for seemingly no reason at all.

But her body couldn't care less about what she wanted.

Involuntary cries of pain escaped her, and her knees buckled. She hit the ground, clutching her head, and curled into a semi-fetal position on the grass. Almost immediately she stopped caring about what everyone would think as she groaned, trying to will the throbbing ache to stop. What was happening?

She heard voices approaching, and one very recognizable and reassuring voice was suddenly directly beside her. She felt his hands on her, but when she opened her eyes to try to find his clear blue gaze and his familiar concerned expression, she was too disoriented to focus properly. Her pulse pounded in her ears, and she squeezed her eyes shut, focusing on just breathing through the pain and the fear as she began to slip into the darkness.

_What did they do to me . . . ?!_


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

Lucy awoke in another bed. A situation that was all too familiar after the recent months. Her desire to just get up preceded any thoughts for her condition. She opened her eyes, squinting against the pale daylight flooding through the blinds. At least her head wasn't killing her anymore. Still, she suppressed a groan and squeezed her eyes shut as she recalled what had put her in this unpleasant position. It had happened in front of everyone. In front of Steve. How many questions would she have to deflect now? Or had a statement already been made about her condition? If so, she could only assume that it was something neutral designed to cover up whatever had really caused it. Seeing as she didn't even know the cause herself, and considering the secrecy of the project at the lab, it was unlikely that any of the trainees would have been informed. Perhaps they were under the impression that she was prone to migraines now.

As she wondered what kind of story S.H.I.E.L.D. would concoct, she also hoped that she wouldn't have to remain in the dark for much longer. It was her own body, after all. If she was going to be utilizing these enhancements, it would be nice to be aware of any side effects. Or maybe she had collapsed because she had reached her limit. Although, she hadn't felt like she had pushed herself too hard on the course, so if that was her limit . . . she would really need to work on it. If she could.

She sighed. She really didn't like having to stay in bed while conscious, and she really didn't feel the need for it at the moment. Recalling her last hospital stay, before she'd become a part of S.H.I.E.L.D., she wondered how she had endured such a stretch of inactivity. When would the medical staff return so that she could leave?

Suddenly there was movement beside her. Startled, she quickly turned her head, in the opposite direction of the window, in time to see a certain blonde man in the process of shifting to sit up properly in the chair that he occupied.

He fixed her with an earnest gaze. "How are you feeling?"

It took her a moment to respond as she got over the surprise that she felt at his presence. How long had he been there?

"I'm fine." She cringed internally when the words came out as a murmur. "It doesn't hurt," she added, wanting him to believe her.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "You really scared us."

"I'm sorry . . ." Though it wasn't her fault, she hated the thought of making a scene.

Steve shook his head slightly, his expression telling her that he seemed to understand how she felt. "Nothing to be sorry for."

A few moments of silence followed. Then, she asked, "What happened?" hoping that he would be able to give her something.

Steve raised his eyebrows in consideration, dropping his gaze. "They didn't say much. Well, not to me." He brought his eyes up to meet hers again. "But I did overhear some things when they were talking to Fury." Lucy watched him expectantly. "I guess it has something to do with your body's reaction to the treatments."

Her heart sank. That was what she had been afraid of. She let out a sigh, closing her eyes and trying to combat the anxiety. She had been doing so well before being sent to the lab, but if she couldn't even run the obstacle course while utilizing her supposed enhancements, then the last two months would have been meaningless. Even worse than meaningless, if she was no longer even capable of what she had been before the enhancements. Had she made the wrong decision after all? Had she ruined her health permanently?

"Hey . . ."

She opened her eyes when she suddenly felt Steve's hand on her shoulder. He gave her a gentle, comforting squeeze, but before she could manage a smile, the door opened. Her eyes moved to the woman in the white coat who strode into the room, and Steve withdrew his hand, looking over his shoulder at the new arrival. To Lucy's disappointment, he got to his feet, as if anticipating that the woman would ask him to leave. As it turned out, he simply moved away from the monitors, and the woman said nothing to him as she went about checking the readings. She glanced down at Lucy, a small smile passing over her otherwise neutral expression.

"Feeling alright?"

Lucy nodded. She wanted to bombard the woman with questions, but found it difficult to begin.

Fortunately, she didn't have to.

"Don't worry, everything's normal. The exertion gave your body a shock because it wasn't quite finished adjusting yet. It shouldn't be a regular occurrence. You'll be just fine."

The anxiety left as quickly as it had come, and Lucy closed her eyes in silent relief. When she looked back over at Steve, he was standing with his arms folded over his broad chest, giving her a calm smile of affirmation. She smiled back, thankful for his reassuring presence. 

* * *

Lucy was kept in the infirmary until the following day. Even though they had claimed that she was fine, they had insisted on further monitoring. When she finally walked out and returned to the residential level and a much-overdue shower, she made up her mind to do everything in her power to never end up hospitalized again. Though, regretfully, she knew that such a thing was impossible to achieve within her new career path.

When she arrived at the commissary, the stares that she received were different from the previous day's. This time, rather than curious and taken aback, they were cautious, and concern filled the room, with a palpable tension. Lucy wished that she could retreat back to her room with her food, but she stuck it out, and managed to put up an adequate wall as she took a seat at a far table and focused on eating. She knew that everyone would stop worrying as soon as they saw that she was alright.

A good portion of the day was spent brushing up on her marksmanship and hand-to-hand combat techniques. She was a little surprised that she hadn't lost her touch. In fact, it seemed a little easier than it had before.

Although she was finally back in the swing of training, thoughts of her parents and Lena were ever present. She hadn't gotten the opportunity to call them before the incident on the field, and the sense of urgency to touch base with them and make sure that they knew she was alright was growing by the hour.

As soon as she had a break, she went straight to the secure line and dialed home, nerves growing in the pit of her stomach. She hadn't made a concrete decision about what she was going to say, but she didn't care about that now. She would just wing it.

Her mother sounded like she might be in tears, and throughout their conversation, Lucy struggled to not let herself cry as well. Two months was a long time, and it must have felt like ages to her parents. She managed to successfully defuse any questions and concerns, and the minutes were primarily spent catching up on what was going on at home, though Lucy briefly mentioned that she now had a good friend who had been a wonderful support system for her.

Following the highly emotional exchange with her Mom, after which Lucy promised to call back later that night to speak with her Dad, she hung up and, after a pause to collect and refocus herself, called Lena.

Her friend was probably going to kill her for disappearing for so long.

Much to Lucy's surprise, Lena reacted differently than expected. The scolding was minor, and dissolved quickly into relieved gushing. The girl sounded near to tears, just like Mrs. Carlisle. Lucy couldn't remember this kind of emotion from her friend ever being directed at her before. And it made her feel awful. She knew that what had happened wasn't really her fault, but she still felt responsible for putting her loved ones through this.

After listening to Lena unload the last several weeks of activities and goings on in her life, Lucy made her a promise—which she didn't actually know if she could keep—to call more regularly in the future.

The monumental weight of the phone calls and the worry over her family was now lifted, but she felt drained.

As she made her way through the halls to get a late lunch, Steve turned a corner up ahead and came toward her. The sight of him made her feel a little better. She smiled at him, but his pleasant expression was interrupted by a small crease between his eyebrows and a slight frown. He slowed his pace.

"You okay?"

She nodded, suddenly very self-conscious of her own expression. The last thing that she wanted was to cause Steve to worry again. "Yeah, I'm fine." And because she knew that it would help to set his mind at ease, she added, "I just got off the phone with my parents and my friend."

"How are they?"

She nodded again, more absentmindedly this time. "They're good. They were worried, but they understood." She knew that Steve could tell that there was more to the conversations than she was saying, but he didn't ask for any details.

"I'm glad it all worked out," he replied, his expression easing slightly. Suddenly, he looked down for a moment, then said, his tone serious, almost solemn, "How are you feeling?"

Lucy's smile was more genuine this time. "Just fine, actually."

He nodded thoughtfully. "That's good." A pause. Then, "See you tonight?"

Lucy felt slightly taken aback. None of their nighttime rendezvous had ever been planned. But knowing that he wanted to meet up made her happy. It had been such a long time, and she missed their after-hours recreation as well, and there was no way that she would turn him down, despite not knowing whether she would be tired enough to sleep on time that night. "Yeah," she replied, trying not to smile too brightly.

The captain confirmed the plan with another nod before continuing on his way down the hall, in the direction from which she had come. Lucy glanced over her shoulder to watch him go as she started walking again herself. 

* * *

Once everyone was finally in bed for the night, Lucy was even less tired than she usually was on nights when she couldn't sleep. This time she didn't even attempt to get some rest before heading down to the gym.

She found Steve in the combat room, in the process of wrapping his hands before taking on a punching bag. He looked up and greeted her when she entered, and she headed straight over and began to wrap her own hands. She missed practicing her strikes with Steve, and she was in the mood for something more interesting than a simple walk.

"You wanna go first?" he asked, giving her a sideways look as he clenched and unclenched his fists, testing the tightness of the bandages.

A small grin spread across her face. "Sure." She quickly finished preparing, and Steve held the bag steady as she took her stance.

The sound of her fists against the bag filled the room. Her body felt light and powerful, even after several minutes of throwing punches. She stopped to catch her breath and to switch roles with Steve, marveling at her new level of stamina, and relieved that she wasn't feeling the pain that she had felt on the field.

She had steadied the bag for Steve in the past, but only for her own benefit, as added strength training, and never for too long, so that he didn't have to keep holding back his strength to avoid hurting her. This time, when his first punch landed, her wrists and arms seemed to absorb the force of it more easily. At first she was a little surprised by the difference, but then realized that she shouldn't be. She started to get excited, the longer she braced the bag, and after a minute had passed, she said, "Harder."

He looked at her hesitantly, and she nodded with a confidence that asked him to trust her. He did. His blows became a bit more forceful. Lucy leaned into the punching bag, absorbing the kinetic energy with her torso as well as her arms. She watched his muscles swelling as he increased the speed of each punch, and put more strength into resisting.

Steve stopped, breathing heavily after the rapid-fire workout, and looked at her curiously. He wordlessly cocked an eyebrow, and she couldn't help the smile that parted her lips.

Before either of them could say anything, a third person disrupted their personal space.

"Looks like you've been busy."

Lucy turned abruptly, knowing whom she would see before laying eyes on the redhead.

Natasha strode toward them with purpose, and Lucy's spirits fell. Was this now a regular thing, Black Widow joining Captain America for late-night training sessions—or whatever it was that they did? Lucy tried not to feel irritated at the woman's sudden appearance. Or, at the very least, she tried not to let her irritation show on her face.

"Natasha." Steve stated the greeting, in the same manner as he had when the woman had interrupted them the last time. His businesslike tone helped to ease the disquieting feeling in Lucy stomach, but only a little. Then, he spoke again. "Can it wait a while?" Lucy glanced up and saw that his expression was set in something more captain-like.

"Actually," Natasha replied, once again drawing Lucy's attention, "I'm here for her." The S.H.I.E.L.D. agent's eyes locked onto the younger woman, who stared for a moment, surprised, before looking to Steve in confusion. He didn't seem to have an answer. A subtle smile crossed Natasha's lips, and she folded her arms. "Welcome to fun times." 

* * *

Lucy came down on the floor of the ring, hard. She grimaced as Natasha held her there for a moment before releasing her. It took Lucy a second longer to pull herself back to her feet this time.

"Come on, you gotta pick up the speed; I know you have it," Natasha was saying, while Lucy circled back to the opposite side of the ring, trying to shake off her third takedown. She avoided looking at Steve, who was watching from the sidelines, arms crossed. She could feel his analytical stare. He had been sparring with the woman for weeks already, and this was only Lucy's first time, so she knew that she shouldn't feel embarrassed about her lack of skill against her. Still, the desire to impress him was rearing its head again, in a way that it hadn't in a long time. She had been trying to focus it into her technique, while still trying to read Natasha's moves, and it wasn't working very well.

As she faced Natasha once again, she reevaluated her strategy. When the woman began to stalk toward her, she made to do the same, but suddenly dropped low to the ground and swung out a leg, swiping it at the redhead's feet. She wasn't surprised when Natasha avoided it, and she instantly launched herself back up, bringing her leg around for a high kick aimed at the woman's shoulder. Natasha ducked, and Lucy used her growing frustration to throw a series of jabs and kicks at her, giving her the speed that she had requested.

The attacks were all blocked in a series of equally impressive moves, and Natasha soon, inevitably, had Lucy in another hold, but the younger woman was determined to not go down again. She pushed against the body behind her, walking her back into the ropes that kept them from falling to the hard ground several feet below, and after a few more seconds, managed to gain some leverage. Lucy flipped Natasha over her shoulder, and both women rolled over one another, back to the center of the ring, each fighting for the upper hand.

Unfortunately, the upper hand went to Natasha, as did every round that followed. By the time that the woman called an end to the punishing training exercise, Lucy was thoroughly sore, bruised to the bone in some places, and more than ready to retire for the night. She ducked between the ropes bordering the ring and hopped down to the floor, trying not to wince too much.

Steve approached her, wearing an expression of concern, which may have contained a hint of amusement. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good," she grimaced.

"That wasn't horrible," came Natasha's voice from behind Steve as she sauntered over to the pair, a bottle of water in her hand. "You'll learn fast." She passed them by and headed straight for the door, calling back, without turning around, "Same time tomorrow," then Lucy and the captain were once again the only two in the room.

Silence took over for a few moments, then Steve spoke. "Natasha can be intense. You did a good job."

She gave him a grateful yet tired smile. "Thanks." Still not having had much time with him, she didn't want to part ways, but she knew that she needed to head back to her room. Regretfully, she said, "I guess I should get some sleep."

Steve nodded. "Good idea. You'll need it."

He wasn't wrong. Especially if a repeat of tonight was waiting for her tomorrow. With an apologetic smile, she said, "I'll see you tomorrow, Steve," and turned for the door.

"Goodnight, Lucy," Steve replied.

"Goodnight."

She leaned heavily against the wall of the elevator as it took her back upstairs. The disappointment at her personal time with her friend being overtaken by the sudden sparring session had increased as soon as Natasha had made it clear that it wouldn't be a one-night thing. Lucy supposed that she shouldn't have expected to just go back to a normal level of training after what they had done to her at the lab, and she didn't intend to complain about any changes, but that didn't mean that she wouldn't feel sad about losing something that she had always looked forward to.

Deciding to shower in the morning, she went straight to her quarters and collapsed onto her mattress. She was out in almost no time at all. 

* * *

Her nights became focused on training with Natasha. The new level of combat gave Lucy a new level of pain, bringing her back to how she had felt when she'd first started at the facility. However, the lingering pain didn't last as long as before, and she soon grew accustomed to it, and it stopped effecting her during the matches against the tough-as-nails Black Widow.

A few days into her new routine, she was finally able to take Natasha to the ground. It was utterly satisfying, but she didn't let it get to her for more than a second or two. Instead, she treated it like it was par for the course, just another step in improving her skills. She did, however, glance down at Steve, and saw a smile on his otherwise stoic face. She reveled in that a little longer.

The redhead nodded in approval as both women moved to opposite sides of the ring once more. "Good. Again."

Two rounds later, Lucy was victorious for a second time.

"You're getting it," Natasha confirmed. "Let's make it three and we'll call it quits for the night."

Determined, Lucy reached her goal in the very next round, and received a pat on the back from her instructor. "Good job, kid." That nickname still wasn't ideal, but there was something endearing about it, and Lucy didn't really mind it this time.

"Thanks," she grinned, and jumped down to meet Steve, who was waiting with her bottle of water. She took it with another "Thanks," and enjoyed a long, refreshing drink.

"Cap."

Lucy and Steve both looked up at Natasha, who was still standing in the ring.

"You're up."

Steve immediately joined his fellow Avenger, and began pacing back and forth on his side of the ring, loosening up his arms and shoulders while Natasha limbered up to prepare to take on the super soldier.

Lucy had had the privilege of watching the two of them spar in private more than once now, and she always made sure to pay close attention and learn from every move that they made. As she observed them, she could feel her muscles tense in reaction to specific strikes and holds. Her body was so accustomed to them now, it was like it craved getting back in on the action.

Steve had improved since the first time that she had seen them spar in front of the other trainees. She had thought that he was good already, but his attacks seemed to be more precise now, and faster. Natasha looked like she was trying harder than she used to, though she was still good at acting like it genuinely wasn't a big deal, which had a tendency to make her even more formidable.

The redhead swung herself up and latched onto Steve's back, putting him in a chokehold. It was a move that she seemed to be quite fond of, and it was something that Lucy very much wanted to learn.

In addition to improving his skills, Steve, though still holding back his full strength, was starting to have fewer qualms about roughing up Natasha a little more. He didn't hesitate to slam her back against the corner poles with a little more force, or try harder to pry her arms away from his neck. Sometimes he succeeded, but other times Lucy could tell that he really didn't want to risk hurting her. She wondered how often Natasha was the one who gave in first. 

* * *

A week had passed since the change in Lucy's after-hours schedule, and though she missed spending one-on-one time with Steve, she had definitely begun to enjoy the challenge of learning from Natasha and being treated like more than just an average trainee.

She was in the middle of unwrapping her hands after a warmup with a punching bag, while Steve landed jab after jab on his own, when the door opened and the slender red-haired woman entered.

Steve stopped instantly, and both his and Lucy's attention turned to the agent. She halted a few meters from them and folded her arms, looking at the two as if in consideration, sizing them up. Lucy continued to unwind the wrappings, but much more slowly, keeping her eyes on the woman in front of her, curiously waiting for her to say something.

Natasha gave a very subtle nod, and finally spoke. "Alright. Show me what you got." She made a gesture with her head, over her shoulder, toward the ring.

Lucy looked at the ring, then at Steve, whose expression was just as confused, then back to Natasha.

"Go on," the redhead continued, "kick each other's asses. I'll be the referee."

Lucy turned back to Steve, the rest of her wrappings temporarily forgotten. Of course, the two of them had practiced moves on each other in the past, but that was so long ago now, the thought of actually going a round with him, in a serious capacity, was somewhat intimidating. But it was also exciting. She was no Black Widow, but it would be a good test of her improved skills, not to mention her enhanced stamina and agility. But what did the captain think? His eyes met hers, his brows knitted slightly. He didn't look concerned, per say, just a bit hesitant. He looked back to the redhead for a moment, then down at his hands as he began to unwrap them without a word.

Lucy practically ripped off the rest of her own bandages, then walked past Natasha and hoisted herself up onto the platform. She made sure that her arms were adequately prepared after her warmup, as well as the rest of her, while she waited for Steve. As he tossed his wrappings into a small pile on the floor, she caught the slightly incredulous look that he gave the other woman, who returned it with a smug smirk of her own.

He pulled himself up easily, and Lucy faced him, inhaling slowly to focus herself, trying not to let his thick biceps intimidate her. Having seen him in action against Natasha, Lucy knew what to expect. She had fought plenty of the male trainees before, but she'd never thought that she would be going up against Captain America like this. Already his stance was different from before, when they would have their occasional supplementary practice sessions. Before he'd had proper S.H.I.E.L.D. training.

He was looking at her, his face more unreadable than she was expecting. Did he look worried? Lucy gave him a smile that she hoped would be reassuring. He simply nodded.

"Well? What are you waiting for?" Natasha's voice broke the somewhat tense anticipation.

Pushing aside any performance-hindering emotions, Lucy took her stance. Steve did the same, angling his body away from her and bending his knees slightly. Their eyes locked. For several long seconds, they tried to read each other, to anticipate who would make the first move, to prepare for what the other might throw at them, to decide how best to attack.

Lucy moved first.

She darted forward and threw a punch at his left shoulder, which he predictably blocked, and without missing a beat, she brought her knee up toward his side. It connected, but didn't faze him, and he grasped her arm and spun her around, into his chest, she struggled for a moment before breaking the hold, and they exchanged a series of rapid blows, deflecting left and right, like a choreographed dance. Lucy's concentration was working overtime, but before she knew it, her body felt like it was moving automatically.

The series of jabs and kicks were interrupted by the occasional grapple, and soon their breaths seemed to synchronize. Lucy's body felt lithe, as if she could continue the dance for hours, despite the bruises beginning to make themselves known on her arms the more that they collided with Steve's powerful muscles. At first, she could tell that he had been going easier on her than when he faced Natasha, but as the match had progressed, he had begun to step it up. She was grateful that he was now giving her the same level of resistance, and she felt the desire to push herself and test the limits of her new abilities.

Steve brought her to the ground, but she twisted and freed herself. Then, without even thinking about it, she launched herself off of the nearest corner pole. The captain tried to turn and intercept her, but was too late, and in the next second, she was clinging onto his back. Mimicking Natasha, she locked her ankles around his waist and wrapped her arms around his neck, careful with the strength of her hold, not wanting to put too much pressure on anything sensitive. He tried to throw her off, grabbing at her arms, and she found herself struggling to ignore the scent of his sweat-dampened skin and hair, to which her face was currently pressed. Not to mention the feel of his incredible muscles flexing against her chest.

They struggled like that for a while, both trying not to hurt each other, and with the prolonged intimate position starting to take its toll on her, Lucy debated whether she should just concede and end it. So she was quite relieved when Natasha's voice rang out from the sidelines, "Okay, that's enough."

She immediately let go, dropping to the floor of the ring, her arms sliding from Steve's shoulders as his large hands released her. She took a couple of steps back, trying to disguise her slightly flustered state as exhaustion.

"Take five," Natasha instructed, and Lucy wasted no time in exiting the ring and going straight for a drink of water. She stood with her back to the others as she drank, taking her time, then lowered the bottle and tried to calm her pounding heart, hoping that the reason for it solely came down to the intense bout of physical exertion. Though she doubted it.

Once she had collected herself, she turned around. Steve had a white towel draped over one shoulder, and was in the midst of hydrating himself as well. Natasha stood in front of him, arms still folded beneath her chest. She was speaking to him in a quieter tone than normal, but Lucy could still make out some of what she was saying.

". . . push her more than that, you know. That's what they want."

He screwed the cap back onto his bottle and looked down at the woman. His words were a little clearer than hers, even with a lowered tone. "They can want it, but she doesn't need it. There's no one else like me that she'll ever have to face." That authoritative quality was back in his voice, as if the desires of the S.H.I.E.L.D. superiors meant nothing to him.

Natasha looked like she was suppressing a sigh. "That's not your call. You don't know what's out there."

"She doesn't need me to put her back in the hospital." He spoke matter-of-factly, but there was perhaps a hint of bitterness in his words.

Lucy didn't know whether to feel grateful or disappointed at the fact that he hadn't been putting more into their match, but considering her newfound aversion to being laid up, she settled on being grateful. She did want to get stronger, and she would have to push herself, to a degree, in order to do so, but hearing that Steve had her best interests at heart made her happy, and she would take that for today.

"Alright, my turn." Natasha's abrupt declaration pulled Lucy from her thoughts, and she was suddenly much more alert. "Who's up first?"

"Me," said the girl without hesitation, returning her bottle to the floor and heading back to the ring. 

* * *

The trio's footsteps filled the empty corridor. Natasha's dark-red hair bobbed slightly as she walked. Lucy had suspected where they were about to be taken, as soon as she and Steve had been intercepted by the woman after a training exercise on the field. Her suspicion was proven to be correct when they reached the administration wing of the facility. She tried to ignore the unpleasant flashbacks of where her first summons into this area had led her. Maybe since Steve was with her this time, the outcome wouldn't be so bad.

They came to a different office than the one in which Lucy had met with Pierce and Fury, and were led inside by Natasha. A man whom Lucy did not recognize sat behind the desk, leaning forward on his elbows, and exuding obvious authority. She and the captain stood in front of him obediently, and Natasha waited off to the side. Lucy was glad to see that the man's expression was not an unpleasant one. It was a promising start.

He got straight to it. "I'm pleased to tell you that your time here is finished."

Nervous butterflies suddenly filled Lucy's stomach. She hadn't known exactly what to expect, but considering that it hadn't even been three weeks since she had returned to the facility, she was surprised that they were transferring her already. However, the surprise was immediately followed by a mixture of relief, excitement and anxiety. This place had become her home over the course of the last several months, and relocating would bring a whole new set of challenges, but she had been preparing herself for this day ever since hearing of Jameson's transfer, and she was more than ready to begin the next new phase of her life.

"You're being assigned to our headquarters in D.C.," the man continued. He was looking from her to Steve and back again, which meant that they were going together. She had to strive to keep her face from betraying just how pleased she was with this fact. "You will each be provided with accommodations in the city, and report for duty when called."

"Yes, Sir," Lucy acknowledged, at the same time as the man beside her.

The older man leaning back in his chair and folding his hands in his lap. The slightest smile touched his lips, reflecting in his eyes. "You've both done very well." His gaze lingered on Lucy, and she allowed a smile of her own to come forth.

"Thank you, Sir," she and Captain Rogers replied in unison.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

The ramp lowered, and Natasha killed the engine. Lucy started to gather her bags, but the redhead stopped her. "Leave them here." Lucy did as she was told, relieved that she wouldn't have to drag them through S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters. Steve was already halfway down the ramp, staring up at the building before them, and Lucy hurried to catch up.

The Triskelion was an impressive piece of architecture, imposing and even somewhat majestic in its own way. The scent of water filled the air, and as Lucy stepped onto the long landing pad, which ran the length of the lower section of the building at ground level, she turned to see the expanse of the Potomac stretching left and right, surrounding the facility. The river glittered in the midday sunlight, and Lucy's excitement grew as the gentle, refreshing breeze tousled a few strands of her hair. That excitement, however, was not without nerves. She was, yet again, in a place completely unfamiliar to her, but the Triskelion was the primary headquarters of S.H.I.E.L.D., and standing there, in its shadow, Lucy felt the definite weight of responsibility on her shoulders. She was no longer a trainee. She was an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D.

Natasha walked briskly out of the Quinjet and past the two new arrivals. "Too slow," she said, without so much as a glance over her shoulder. "Careful, you wouldn't want Fury to demote you before you've even started."

Lucy barely withheld an eye roll as she glanced up at Steve. His eyes twinkled with humor as he smirked, and they both followed the redhead at an efficient pace.

The glass-ceilinged lobby was bright, airy and spacious, much larger than that of the training facility. Men and women in business attire strode from point A to point B with purpose, footsteps echoing through the vast space. Natasha led Lucy and Steve into an elevator and selected the appropriate floor. Lucy's stomach dropped slightly when the car rose above the lobby, and she found herself overlooking the river and the opposite bank through two glass outer walls of the shaft. It was quite a sight, all water, concrete structures, and lush, green trees and grass, so she tried to focus on that, and forced the daunting height from her mind as the elevator continued its climb.

Finally, the doors opened, and the trio strode through the halls until Natasha stopped at another door, opened it, and showed Lucy and Steve into the room.

It was a large, modern, tastefully designed office with slate-grey walls and black furnishings. The space was lighted with a combination of floor lamps, stationed periodically around the room, lightstrips overhead, and natural light pouring in through a wide panoramic window that encompassed the far corner and almost reached as high as the ceiling. A conference table sat in the back right corner, and to the left, framed by the window, and the blue sky beyond, was a desk. Behind the desk, gazing out at the sprawling landscape below, stood a very familiar black-clad man. Lucy felt her nerves lessen at the sight of him.

Nick Fury turned to face his guests, Natasha coming to stand beside the desk as Lucy and Steve took their places in front of it. The director's eye moved between the two as he came away from the windows. "Well, you made it out alive," he said, stopping beside the desk chair, hands folded behind his back as he observed the new members of S.H.I.E.L.D. Lucy could almost see the glint of humor in his eye. "And now, _I_ get you." He turned his attention to the super soldier. "It's good to have you here, Cap."

"It's good to be here, Sir." The captain was once again in Military Mode. Lucy could picture the mask of professionalism on his face as she kept her eyes on Fury.

The director then looked at her. "As I understand it, you'll be an asset to the team."

"I hope so, Sir," Lucy replied. It felt a little strange to be considered to be on a similar level as Captain America. She may be friendly with Steve, but he was still the legend from World War II, and when she thought about it, it really was an honor to just be standing beside him like this.

"I'm assigning you to a special unit," Fury continued, still addressing Lucy. "You'll be working with Agent Romanoff, as well as the captain here. I look forward to seeing what you can do, Agent Carlisle."

Agent. The title sent a wave of satisfaction and excitement through her. She nodded once. "Yes, Sir."

After a moment, he spoke again. "Given that your unit is currently out on assignment, we'll continue the formalities tomorrow." He then gave Natasha a single nod of silent communication before looking back to Steve and Lucy. "Welcome to S.H.I.E.L.D."

Following the meeting with Fury, the new recruits were led back through the building by Natasha, and eventually came to a massive garage filled with a great number of vehicles. Many were the typical black S.H.I.E.L.D. SUVs, but Natasha had something else in mind.

Lucy stared as they approached the car. In terms of color, it matched the SUVs, but it stood out amongst them like a black sheep in a herd of white brethren.

Natasha unlocked the sleek, edgy sports car and strode around to the driver's side. "There are only two seats," she said, opening the door, then leaned into the car for a moment before straightening back up and looking at Steve. "But anyway, I think you'd prefer something a little more . . . _you,_ Rogers." She tossed something to him, and Lucy heard a slight jangling of metal as he reached up and caught it effortlessly, his fist closing around the object. She peered over curiously as he looked down at a set of keys in his palm. Natasha, leaning against the car, made a slight gesture with her head to her side of the vehicle. Steve and Lucy both moved closer, circling around the back end.

Steve stopped, a smile growing on his face, parting his lips slightly as he beheld the motorcycle. It was black, like its peers, and Lucy could clearly see the Harley-Davidson emblem on the side of the fuel tank. It brought back memories of when her dad would take his Harley out for rides when she was a kid.

"You like?" Natasha sounded like she already knew the answer.

"I like." Steve approached the bike, swung a leg over, and tested the seat, gripping the handlebars in appreciation.

Suddenly, the redhead spoke again, this time to Lucy, who abruptly became aware of the slight smile on her own face—and that she had been staring at the man in front of her. "Get in, _Agent_ Carlisle."

Lucy hurried back around to the other side of the sportscar, and, after a second or two of searching for the handle, pulled the door open, careful to avoid leaving fingerprints on the shiny surface. The car was obviously well maintained, and she couldn't help but wonder how often it was driven. She slid into the passenger's seat as Natasha pressed the startup button, and the engine gave a soft, low growl as it came to life. The sound and feel of it almost gave Lucy chills. It was the first time that she had ever been in a car this expensive.

Suddenly, another, louder engine started beside them, and Lucy's attention snapped to the man on the motorcycle. She had just caught sight of him through the back driver's-side window when Natasha put the car in gear, and they were off.

Their small caravan pulled out of the garage, onto a long stretch of roadway that connected the Triskelion with the opposite bank of the river. They passed the security gate and continued on toward the city.

It had been a while since Lucy had had a proper car ride. Aside from being transported in a S.H.I.E.L.D.-regulation SUV during a couple of their simulated missions—which all took place on-property—the last time that she had ridden in a vehicle that didn't fly was when Fury had picked her up from her apartment in New York.

The drive was spent in mutual silence, reminding Lucy even more of the ride to the airport with Fury. If she weren't used to Natasha's tendency to be rather stoic, the atmosphere might have been awkward. Without conversation, she occupied herself with taking in the new sights, marveling at how surreal it felt to be traveling through a city again, and listening to the sound of Steve's motorcycle echoing the steady purr of the car's engine as he trailed not far behind.

They arrived at a beautiful old house on a corner, painted a brick red, and trimmed with decorative white molding. It had a classic, Victorian kind of feel, and Lucy instantly took a liking to it. She followed Natasha's lead and got out of the car as Steve, who had pulled up behind them, turned off the motorcycle's engine and dismounted, then the redhead led the pair into the building.

Lucy ran her hand along the beautiful old wooden banister as they climbed the stairs. The hallways alone were in better condition than Lucy's place in New York. She could only imagine what was in store when it came to the apartments themselves. Warmth began to swell in her chest at the thought of living in a real residence again. But it was more than that. For some reason, this place already felt like home.

They stepped off onto the second-floor landing. Natasha walked past the first door as she produced what looked to be a set of keys from her pocket, and stopped in front of another door, directly ahead. She held out the keys and turned to Lucy. "This is you." Lucy held out her hand, and the keyring jingled as Natasha dropped it into her open palm. The older woman then turned to Steve. "Cap, you're upstairs." With that, she turned back the way that they'd come, and Steve made to follow, glancing over his shoulder at Lucy as he went. She gave him a smile, as if to let him know that she would be fine by herself.

As soon as he had gone, Lucy looked down at the keys in her hand. There were two, but one was in the form of a black and silver gadget with buttons. At the top was a logo that appeared to be a sort of wing-like V spanning a simple circle. It was familiar, but she couldn't quite place it. All she knew was that it belonged to a car company. If S.H.I.E.L.D. was supplying her with a vehicle, she hoped that it wouldn't be anything close to what Natasha was driving. That sort of thing suited the redhead, but Lucy wouldn't feel comfortable with something so expensive and flashy. Especially since she wasn't used to driving, as she had relied on public transit in New York, and her practice time at the facility had been minimal, compared to everything else.

But now was not the time to think about driving around the unfamiliar cityscape of Washington DC, so Lucy slid the conventional key into the lock on the door and turned it. The mechanism within clicked, and she eagerly turned the knob and stepped into her new apartment.

The interior was warm and comfortable, an extension of the halls. Lucy closed the door and proceeded farther inside. As soon as she got her first glance at the living room, she knew that she was home. She hadn't expected anything nearly as nice as this. It was filled with tasteful furniture in gentle, muted colors, and there was even a fireplace framed with molding and painted a dark, warm shade of brown. Overall, the aesthetic seemed to be a good match for the building's classic exterior.

She was just admiring the finer details of the room when she stopped suddenly. Her eyes had landed on the flat-screen television and, in particular, the shelving beside it. A swell of emotion rose in her chest at the sight of her entire media collection organized neatly before her. She had been so busy over the months that she hadn't realized just how much she'd been missing the simple luxuries of home. Then, a thought struck her, and she hurried off to find the bedroom.

As she had suspected, all of the clothes that she had left behind in New York were now either folded and stacked inside of her new bureau or hanging up in a tidy row within the closet. Her familiar comforter had even been spread over her new bed. Further investigation into the rest of the apartment revealed that every personal possession of hers had been retrieved for her. Seeing it all there, she recalled Pierce saying something about her things being moved to her new location, but coming upon it so suddenly like this had caught her off guard. The only thing that could have made this homecoming better was if her parents and best friend had been waiting for her when she'd opened the door.

She glanced down to the floor beside the bed. There sat the three bags that had accompanied her on her journey. Someone had brought them over promptly from the Quinjet. _Leave it to S.H.I.E.L.D.,_ she thought, with a slight impressed-yet-mystified shake of her head, before hauling her bags up onto the mattress to begin unpacking.

It didn't take her long, and once she was finished, she picked up her cellphone to check the time, and was hit with the sudden realization that she could finally go back to using her phone as it was intended. With barely a second thought, she speed-dialed her parents' number.

* * *

It was surreal to be suddenly living so normally again, but Lucy fell back into it quite easily. Though it did feel strange to not have immediate access to a gym. After updating her parents and Lena on her location—which she was thrilled to be able to do after so much secrecy—and leaving a voicemail for Lena, requesting that she call her back, she sat on the plush sofa and allowed herself to relax and watch TV for the first time in months.

It wasn't long before hunger began to gnaw at her stomach, and she realized that she hadn't eaten since before leaving the training facility. She got up and wandered into the kitchen, wondering whether S.H.I.E.L.D.'s setup of her apartment had included food. She was pleased to see a modest yet pleasing assortment of things between the fridge, freezer and cupboards, and on the counter she found what appeared to be a credit card. They really had everything covered.

She set to work preparing a simple meal of instant flavored rice and seasoned chicken breasts. At first she had been afraid that her cooking skills would be rusty, but the sizzle of the chicken in the hot pan, the rapid bubbling of the pot of water, and the delicious, warm aromas that filled her new home, made her feel normal once again, and everything came together perfectly.

As she turned off the burners and removed the pan from the heat, she was surprised by a sudden knock at the door. She covered the chicken to keep it warm, and walked quickly down the hallway. One glance through the peephole confirmed her hope, and within seconds, she had unlocked the knob, slid the deadbolt out of the way, and opened the door to reveal Steve's tall, broad-shouldered form, waiting patiently, and looking incredibly handsome in a pair of jeans, a plaid button-down shirt, and a brown jacket. It was the first time that she had seen him in something so . . . normal, and she tried to ignore what it was doing to her heart. He returned her smile as soon as the barrier between them was gone.

"Hi," she greeted, "come on in."

Upon her invitation, he stepped into the small entryway. Her shoulder brushed the front of his jacket as she closed the door behind him.

"Nice place," he remarked. His manners really were impeccable, especially considering that his apartment probably looked very similar. Still, his words made Lucy's smile widen.

"It is. I didn't expect anything like this," she said as she led him back down the hall.

"It smells great in here."

"Oh, thanks." She glanced back with another smile. "I just made an early dinner. Do you want some? There's enough. Nothing fancy, just chicken and rice." She opened the cupboard containing a small set of plates.

"What kind of man would I be if I turned down a fresh, home-cooked meal?"

Lucy felt a blush threaten to color her cheeks at his choice of words, suddenly achingly aware of who exactly was in her apartment: Steve, her friend, with whom she had only interacted in public places, even when alone. Steve, her friend, with whom she hadn't spent much one-on-one time at all since returning from her hiatus. Steve, her friend, who was also Captain Steve Rogers, war hero, super soldier, man out of time—Captain America. Though they were friends, and they had been alone before, the apartment felt like a much more intimate setting than the gym or combat-training room. And rather than taking turns on a punching bag, they were about to have dinner together. Just the two of them. It didn't help that their friendship had in no way diminished his good looks. Lucy pushed her confused emotions aside as she brought down the plates.

A couple of minutes later, the two of them were seated at the kitchen table, enjoying the flavorful chicken and rice in an amiable silence. Lucy stole an occasional glance at her companion. It dawned on her that this was the first time that a man was eating something that she had cooked. Of course, meals that she had made for her mother and father didn't count. Although, Steve shouldn't count either, seeing as he was merely a friend. Or was he more like a colleague with whom she had a close acquaintanceship? Could she really consider them friends when their "friendship" didn't really go beyond accompanying each other in the training rooms and him encouraging her when it came to exams and practice missions? She had disappeared on him for almost two months . . .

She mentally shook herself, taking another bite of the moist chicken, reminding herself that if he didn't care, he wouldn't have been so concerned about her when she'd returned from the lab, and and he wouldn't have shown interest in spending time with her after that. And he probably wouldn't have shown up at her apartment so soon after moving into his own upstairs.

Steve reached for his glass of water, and Lucy dropped her gaze back to her rice, taking her time with scooping up another forkful. She wished that she had thought to put on some music.

A few moments later, Steve broke the silence.

"Natasha said that we need to be back at headquarters by eight o'clock tomorrow morning."

The work-related talk immediately eased Lucy's nerves. She momentarily glanced up from her plate and nodded. "Okay."

A short pause followed.

"You nervous?"

She looked up again, meeting his eyes this time. "Not really. Why?"

"You just seem a little on edge."

She shoved down any thoughts of the primary reason for her nerves, and turned her mind solely to her new job. "Well, it's definitely not the training facility. It feels kind of surreal, finally being a part of S.H.I.E.L.D." She looked down at the remnants of rice on her plate. "I just hope I can hold my own."

He gave her a gentle, reassuring smile. "You'll be fine." Then, a hint of something a bit more mischievous touched his expression. "Nick Fury isn't as intimidating as everyone thinks."

Lucy smirked, raising her eyebrows. "I'm not so sure about that."

His tone returned to being a bit more serious. "Just try not to worry. If you weren't ready, you wouldn't be here."

She looked up once more, into his steady, sure, crystal-blue eyes. "Thanks."

The silence in the moments that followed felt more comfortable than before, and Lucy began to finish her rice, feeling better after their brief exchange.

"Oh—"

At Steve's sudden exclamation, Lucy's eyes snapped back to him as he leaned back in his chair, digging into the front pocket of his jeans. She watched curiously as he withdrew something thin, black and palm-sized—a cell phone.

"Natasha gave it to me," he explained, looking somewhat sheepish. "Said I should start catching up a little faster."

Lucy's heart ached for him. She was sure that Natasha hadn't meant to hurt him with her words, but the modern world was constantly pressing in on the man, and if he hadn't gotten a cell phone before now, he'd probably been too uncomfortable with the concept. Having one suddenly thrust upon him, as soon as he'd arrived at yet another new home, must have made him feel even more out of place.

"She briefed me on the basics," he continued, halfheartedly turning the device over in his hand, "but it'll take some getting used to."

Lucy tried to give him an encouraging smile, rather than a sad one. Then, he held the phone out to her, and she looked at him, perplexed.

"She input her contact information," he explained, "and I was thinking that you could do the same."

And just like that, the slight fluttering of the nerves returned, not quite as bothersome as before, but enough to make her give herself a mental scolding as she reached out to take the phone from his outstretched hand. "Sure, no problem."

It was a different model than her own, but it didn't take long for her to enter her cell number into his contacts. She took a moment to let in sink in that she was giving Steve Rogers her number, then reminded herself that he was simply her friend, Steve, and it was nothing to get worked up over, and handed the device back to its owner. Still, she couldn't help but imagine what Lena would say about the situation. The poor girl would probably have palpitations, before gushing enthusiastically about what she perceived to be Lucy's emerging love life.

Steve gave her a soft smile and a nod, almost looking a little relieved. "Thanks." He then turned his eyes to the screen, where her information was still on display.

Suddenly, an abrasive vibrating noise cut through the quiet atmosphere in the kitchen. Lucy's attention snapped to the counter, where her own cell phone lay, notifying her of an incoming call. She stood up quickly to grab the disruptive thing, and checked the caller ID. Lena's happy face stared up at her from the picture above her name. Lucy looked back to the man sitting at her table. He was watching her curiously. She felt a little torn, wanting to take the call, but knowing that he would probably leave if she did. But she had asked Lena to call her back, so it would be wrong to ignore her.

"I'm sorry, I have to take this," she said regretfully. He nodded in understanding, not looking as disappointed as she felt. She picked up the call to stop the incessant vibrating as Steve got to his feet, and held the phone to her ear. "Hey, Lena? Hang on a sec, okay?" She could hear her friend saying something as she brought the phone down to her chest, and looked back to Steve.

"Thank you for the food," he said.

"Of course, it was my pleasure." Lucy felt a touch of embarrassment at her choice of words, but Steve merely gave her his charming, easy-going smile, mercifully ignorant of her inner plight. She led the way back down the hall to the front door, wishing that she could delay his departure, but also ready to give her emotions a break from the unexpected roller coaster that they'd been on ever since he had arrived. She unlocked the knob, then the deadbolt, opened the door, and stepped aside. This time, she narrowly avoided brushing against him when he passed.

"See you tomorrow," he said, still smiling.

"See ya," she replied in kind, and with a little wave over his shoulder, he headed for the stairs, and was soon out of sight, the sound of his footsteps echoing behind him.

Lucy closed and locked her door, exhaling a small sigh. It had been a long time since she had felt so flustered around him. Maybe he had stopped effecting her so much back in training because she'd had other things to focus on—such as workouts and exams and keeping track of schedules. While this time, there had only been the two of them, a quiet apartment, and a warm meal. Regardless, she was disappointed in herself. Steve enjoyed her company, he felt comfortable around her, and she was more than grateful for being granted this relationship with such an amazing man. She didn't want to jeopardize it by starting to act shy and awkward when they were alone, just because she couldn't control whatever attraction she felt for him. After all, she _was_ attracted to him. She had been since the beginning. It had just ended up on a back burner after a while. And now, it seemed that the time had finally come for her to start accepting the fact.

A small sound disrupted her thoughts, and she pulled herself back to the present, where she remained standing in the hallway by the door, and she realized that Lena was trying to get her attention. She quickly put the phone back to her ear. "Sorry! I got held up . . ."

"Who was that?!" Lena sounded like she couldn't care less that it took Lucy longer than it should have to get back to the call.

Lucy's heart skipped a beat. Her friend had overheard Steve's goodbye, and now she was about to commence the interrogation. Still, hoping that she could stop it before it began, Lucy took a chance and asked, "Who?"

"Um, the _guy_ who was just with you? Please tell me you actually listened to me and got a boyfriend."

Lucy repressed a sigh and thought fast.

"Oh, no, he's just a colleague."

"And you bought him food?"

_I _made_ him food,_ Lucy corrected in her mind, but that fact would only make Lena's thoughts run wild with the possibilities of her friend's supposed romantic future. Instead, Lucy went with, "We're not together." Thinking of Steve and herself like that forced her to once again give a mental scolding to her psyche as Lena charged ahead.

"Sure, of course you're not. Just remind me again: When was the last time you ate with a guy? Seriously, you'd better not close yourself off from him; he sounded hot."

Despite the blush heating up Lucy's cheeks, she rolled her eyes at her friend's comment, the familiarity of both the gesture and the discussion making her feel a little more grounded, bringing her back to how things used to be. It gave her a strange sense of displacement as she stood there, in her new apartment, in an unfamiliar city, about to begin a new, exciting, and likely very dangerous job. It was for this reason that she took a seat on the comfortable couch and put up with further grilling from her friend about the mysterious colleague with whom she had shared a meal.

Later that night, after crawling into her new, soft bed, snuggling under the covers and closing her eyes, she realized how close in proximity she was to Steve. In the facility, she had never seen him anywhere near the hallway in which her quarters were located. Now, he was practically right above her. Despite it being her first night alone in a new apartment, she had no problem drifting off, and the deep and restful sleep that followed was surely thanks—at least in part—to the knowledge that Steve Rogers was close by.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

The morning air was slightly brisk, a reminder that autumn was quickly approaching, despite the lush green foliage still on the trees. It was a strange feeling to have missed a good portion of the summer, but Lucy didn't want to dwell on that, not now. Not when she had something more important to think about. She stood beside the black Mazda, keys in hand, both admiring the car and struggling with being too daunted by DC traffic to drive it to headquarters. And feeling quite foolish for being afraid of such a thing, considering her status as a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.

Before she could bring herself to get into the vehicle, a familiar, reassuring voice came from behind her. "Is there something wrong with it?"

Lucy looked over at Steve as he joined her at the curb. She didn't care to admit her weak constitution when it came driving, but she also didn't want to lie, so she merely gave him a half shrug and a look that she hoped conveyed her hesitance to brave the streets. And being the observant, understanding man that he was, his gentle expression turned knowing for a moment before he abruptly looked away, furrowing his brow, eyes narrowed in thought.

A moment later, he spoke, and instantly alleviated Lucy's worry. "How about a lift?"

He was looking down at her again, and Lucy tried not to appear too relieved as she gave him a soft smile and said, "Sure. Thanks."

She waited until he was seated on his motorcycle, then gingerly situated herself behind him, briefly wondering where she should put her hands, but as there were no other options, she had no choice but to grab on to the sides of his jacket.

He had just inserted the key into the ignition when he suddenly paused and glanced at her over his shoulder. "You'll probably want to hold on better than that."

He was right, of course, so she quelled the nervous murmurings inside of her and wrapped her arms securely around his waist as he started the engine. The bike roared to life, and seconds later, they were speeding off down the street, into the early-morning flow of city traffic.

Having never been on a motorcycle before, Lucy found the ride a little daunting at first. But she could feel the strength of the man in front of her—his complete control of the bike—and she quickly began to relax, despite the foreign sensation of having herself pressed flush to the captain's back. She wondered whether he had ever let a passenger ride with him before, or if this was a new experience for him as well. If it was causing him any discomfort, he definitely wasn't showing it. He took each turn and each traffic light with a calm sense of confidence, as if he had already driven these streets multiple times. Lucy felt safe with him, and allowed herself to enjoy their surroundings a little more.

When the Triskelion appeared before them, Lucy marveled at it all over again. This was her first time seeing it from afar. It almost seemed more intimidating from this perspective. They passed through the security gate and continued onto the roadway that stretched across the river. The air felt cooler, surrounded by the expanse of water, and the monumental concrete building before them loomed ever closer against the pale morning sky. Despite all that she had been through, and how much mental and physical strength that she had gained, Lucy had to admit that she was glad to not be facing this new life alone.

* * *

Lucy looked over at the intimidating, rugged man beside Fury's desk. He stood with his arms folded, and both his stance and his general manner exuded a very no-nonsense air. His black T-shirt and grey cargo pants showed off a lean, muscular physique—top-field-agent caliber. As soon as Lucy and Steve had entered the office, she'd felt the agent sizing her up. Refusing to allow herself to be intimidated, she kept her expression as stoic as possible as she and Steve took their places in front of Fury's desk.

"Captain, Agent Carlisle—Brock Rumlow," Fury introduced. "S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, and leader of STRIKE—your new team."

Steve turned to Rumlow. "Steve Rogers," he said, offering a handshake to the other man, who obliged him.

"Captain Rogers," the agent acknowledged. Lucy silently observed the exchange. Aside from the fact that both men were in peak physical condition, Rumlow was practically Steve's opposite. While Steve was fair-haired and clean-shaven, Rumlow had dark hair, and the shadow of a beard added to his hard-edged appearance. Overall, there was no doubt that the man seemed fit to lead an elite team of operatives.

Rumlow then turned to Lucy. She held his intimidating gaze. A man like him would respect a confident inner fire more than a meek subordinate who liked to remain in the background. To Lucy's mild surprise, it wasn't as hard to present herself with confidence in front of him as she'd thought.

"So," he said, his dark eyes scrutinizing her, "this is Artemis."

The name caught her off guard. Hearing the project title used to address her, as if it were her actual name, felt . . . strange. At first, she was slightly confused as to why he hadn't called her "Carlisle" like Fury and Natasha, but then it dawned on her: Coming from the team leader, it sounded like a code name. That fact somehow made her existence within this agency—her position among these people—feel even more legitimate. And despite the title being a strong reminder of those traumatic weeks in the lab, she didn't really mind it. It felt like a badge of honor.

With a single nod of affirmation to her superior, she replied, "Yes, Sir."

For a few moments, Rumlow seemed to be considering the young woman standing before him. "Looks like we'll have quite the team on our hands."

* * *

It was strange to be living a domestic life again. Nearly a week had passed since the meeting with Fury and Rumlow, and Lucy had yet to be called back in to headquarters. So, for the time being, her days consisted of cooking, doing laundry, reading, and watching movies. It felt wrong, and her body had started to crave intense physical activity fairly quickly, but it also felt kind of nice to just allow herself to settle back into such a familiar way of life. Especially considering that she was now able to communicate frequently with her parents and Lena. Still, amid the calm atmosphere of her apartment and the laid-back afternoons, she couldn't help but worry that she might discover that she'd lost some of her skills when it finally came time for an assignment. Though she knew that that was ridiculous; it hadn't been long since she'd come to DC, and there were too many months of training inside of her for it to just disappear because she didn't kick her own ass every day. In addition, she could still feel the difference in her body when it came to even simple tasks, such as carrying the laundry basket up and down the flights of stairs, to and from the basement facilities. She hadn't needed to do her own laundry since she had left New York, and cycling through normal clothing, like hoodies and jeans, also seemed foreign after the basic, standard grey and black attire with which the trainees were equipped. She had never cared much for chores in her previous life, but now they fulfilled a need to keep herself active, and she was surprised by how little she considered them to be a nuisance.

She popped open the dryer door and dragged out the small load of laundry into her basket, enjoying the feel of the warm clothes. As she took the stairs back up to the first floor, her phone suddenly vibrated in her pocket. She paused on the steps and dug it out, her pulse suddenly quickening, as it did every time she got a call, in anticipation of who could be on the other end. For a moment, she thought that it might be Steve, but he had yet to call or text her with his new phone, so the odds were slim. She was more concerned with the possibility of it being S.H.I.E.L.D.-related.

As quickly as she could, she looked at the caller ID—and the sudden shot of adrenaline faded. It was Lena. She answered the call and held the phone to her ear as she continued up the basement stairs.

"Hey," she greeted.

"Hey! Whatcha doin'?"

"Laundry," Lucy replied. It felt great to be open about her day-to-day activities again.

"_Fun,_" Lena said with blatant sarcasm, making Lucy smile as she reached the hallway. She headed for the next flight of stairs as her friend continued. "So, I'm making dinner, and I could use some company. And it's been way too long since I've actually seen you. Like—insanely long; it's kind of ridiculous. So I was thinking we could Skype for a bit?"

Lucy reached the second floor as Lena finished her rather long-winded proposal, and her smile widened. It _had_ been a long time, but she felt like she was still mentally adjusting to this new domestic lifestyle, so her brain hadn't really started thinking about everything that she used to do, like video-chatting with Lena. It was a great idea. "Sure, I'd love to," she said, and could imagine the grin on her friend's face as she unlocked her apartment door. "Just give me a minute to fold these clothes."

A short time later, once the still-warm laundry had been tucked away inside of her dresser, Lucy hurried to retrieve her phone from where she had left it lying on the bed, and proceeded to send Lena a video call.

Her friend's grinning face—not just in picture form this time—appeared on the screen. It suddenly really hit Lucy that she hadn't actually seen Lena since she had been with her in Germany. So many months ago—before her life had completely changed. The emotions tied to that realization began to well up inside of her, but they were suddenly dampened when Lena's expression changed from one of joy to one of astonishment.

"What the hell happened to your hair?!"

Lucy was momentarily taken aback. Her hand flew up to touch her head. The dark-brown locks still barely touched her cheeks. She had completely forgotten to mention it. Perhaps she had grown more accustomed to the change of hairstyle than she had thought. "Oh, um . . . I cut it. Guess I forgot—sorry."

Lena gave her a somewhat begrudging look. "Well, obviously." But her expression lightened up immediately. "When did you get it done? It looks great."

"Really?" Lucy's couldn't help but feel a little self-conscious under Lena's typically scrutinizing eye. It wasn't as if she could explain that she hadn't chosen this haircut if her friend hated it.

"Really!" Lena insisted as she put down her phone and went about her business around her little apartment kitchen. "I've never even thought about you with short hair. What made you want to cut it?"

Lucy's brain searched frantically for an answer, but her friend spoke again before she could come up with anything.

"Could it have been a certain coworker?"

Her tone was sly, and Lucy barely resisted rolling her eyes. "_Really?_" _Here we go . . ._ She tried to deflect by saying, "That sounds more like something _you_ would do."

"And, indeed, I have." Lena sounded almost proud, and Lucy recalled vividly the time that she had died her hair red to try to appeal to a guy in high school.

"Oh, that reminds me," Lucy said, glad for the opportunity to change the subject, "how's everything with Gregory?"

Naturally, Lena didn't seem to mind that the focus was switching to her boyfriend. "Excellent, as always," she beamed from a few feet away as she sorted out ingredients on the counter. "I wanted to make dinner for him tonight, but he had to work, so we're going out tomorrow instead. And now I get to have a delicious chicken roulade by myself." She didn't sound particularly upset, but Lucy knew that the disappointment would definitely remain for a while. No wonder she wanted to chat today.

Lucy chuckled. "I'm sorry I can't be there. And he's missing out, your cooking is amazing. I don't even attempt things like chicken roulade."

"Oh, it's not that hard; you should give it a try for your 'coworker' sometime." She shot a wink at the camera. Lucy didn't hold back with the eye-roll this time. However, despite Lena's propensity for teasing, she really was a good friend, and she didn't dwell on the subject of the mysterious acquaintance. "Anyway, just because we're having dinner out tomorrow doesn't mean that Gregory will never have a good home-cooked meal. I'll force it on him if I have to."

"You won't have to, he'll love it," Lucy assured her, cracking a smile. "I know _I_ would."

Lena gave her friend a sympathetic look. "I'd send you some, but it probably wouldn't be that great after a trip through the mail . . ."

Lucy laughed. "Probably not." She took a seat on the couch as she watched Lena bustle about her kitchen. She realized that she hadn't eaten lunch yet.

"Oh!" Lena exclaimed suddenly, rushing over to grab her phone from where she had propped it up, and held it in front of her. "I've seen your hair, now show me your apartment!"

Lucy smiled. "Okay, hold on."

She got up again and proceeded to tour Lena through each room, pointing out little details that she liked. Her friend was very appreciative of the classic and comfortable feel of the place, and remarked on how lucky Lucy was to have the salary for an apartment like that. Not wanting to linger on the topic of her job any more than the topic of Steve, Lucy quickly steered the conversation back to Lena and where she and Gregory were planning on going for dinner.

As they were just beginning to reminisce about restaurants and cafes that they had visited during Lucy's brief time in Germany, a notification popped up on Lucy's screen. Her blood instantly froze.

Incoming Call: Natasha

"Um, sorry, I'm getting a call, I have to take it," she said quickly, sincerely apologetic for the interruption, but also trying to hide her mounting excitement and anxiety. This was what she had been anticipating for days, and she both hoped and feared that it meant what she thought that it meant.

Lena shrugged it off amiably. "Go ahead, it's no problem. Just call me back when you're done."

"Okay." Lucy ended the chat with her friend and answered the call from her coworker as quickly as she could, nervous that she had already made the redhead wait too long.

"Hello?"

"Carlisle?" came Natasha's voice over the line. "We have an assignment. We need you here within the hour."

Lucy's stomach dropped and exploded with nerves. This was it. The time had finally come.

"I'll be there," she confirmed, and Natasha hung up without another word, all business, as usual.

Lucy took a moment or two to gather herself a little before calling Lena back.

"Hey, sorry, that was work. I'm being called in. Can we do this again sometime soon?"

"Sure thing!" Lena grinned, seeming completely understanding of the situation, for which Lucy was relieved. It wouldn't have helped her nerves to know that she was leaving her friend feeling abandoned. "Have fun," Lena added with a touch of sarcasm, as she undoubtedly expected the job to be a bore. "And say 'hi' to your man for me."

Lucy shook her head, unable to withhold her grin. But the remark helped to ease her tension somewhat, so she didn't bother to reprimand her friend for it.

"Good luck with dinner. I'll be there in spirit."

"I'll set out an honorary plate for you."

Lucy ended the chat for the second time, her lighthearted mood from the conversation with her best friend quickly being overtaken by a thick cloud of worry and stress as the reality of the task ahead became her sole focus. Wasting no time, she hurried to prepare herself for whatever awaited her at headquarters, and was out the door in less than twenty minutes.

As she bounded down the stairs, she realized that she would finally have to brave the streets in her car, but she didn't have the luxury of letting that bother her.

When she emerged into the afternoon sunshine, she saw the familiar brown-jacket-clad physique of a certain captain standing at the curb. It had been a few days since she had seen him, and her heart reacted with a small twinge of excitement. But she disregarded it. She couldn't afford more nerves at present.

He once again offered her a ride. The fact that he had bothered to wait for her was incredibly touching, but as she swung a leg over the back of his bike, she knew that she would have to start getting used to driving in the city on her own, as she couldn't always rely on Steve—no matter how much she may like it. Maybe she could find a quieter time of day to take the car out. _Maybe a late-night drive would work._

The thought reminded her of her other late-night activities, which were now a thing of the past. Even though she now had an easier time sleeping, with a less-hectic lifestyle and a normal bedroom, she couldn't help but miss the gym sessions with Steve. And if she were being honest with herself, she missed Steve in general. Before, she had seen him almost every day, but with their interactions becoming less frequent after their move to the city, coupled with her lack of a strenuous schedule, Lucy felt a sense of displacement. It wasn't enough to make her truly miss the training facility, but the new drastic change had thrown everything that she had grown accustomed to out the window. Amid everything, Steve was the primary constant. Her sturdy pillar of support. She found herself about to subconsciously tighten her hold on his waist as they drove, and stopped herself, redirecting her thoughts. Despite her nerves about whatever awaited the two of them at headquarters, she was looking forward to doing something other than the mundane tasks that had kept her occupied for the last few days.

* * *

The full-body black suit clung to her almost like a second skin, but it was surprisingly comfortable. She checked the first of two handguns before securing it in the holster on her right hip, then picked up the second from the rack and slid it into the left. She glanced over at the redhead, now equipped with her own combat gear and looking much more confident than Lucy felt. But that was to be expected, Lucy reminded herself. For Natasha, this was par for the course.

"Alright, let's move."

Lucy turned and saw the rest of the team following Rumlow out of the armory. She fell into line with Natasha and Steve, her eyes traveling to the captain's new tactical uniform. It was much darker than the one that she had seen in New York and Germany, and although the red-white-and-blue color scheme had been done away with, the star and stripes emblazoned across his chest made him indisputably recognizable as Captain America. The uniform, along with the iconic shield mounted on his back, served as a blatant reminder of who he was and caused the familiar nervous energy to stir beneath Lucy's attempted confident facade. She was about to go on a mission with Captain America. A real mission. And she wouldn't be fighting as a civilian with a commandeered alien weapon this time, but as, for all intents and purposes, the captain's equal.

Her situation felt much more real now than it had even an hour prior, and although she was still in the dark about what the mission would entail, with every step that she took, she was overcome with the determination to prove herself. Despite her more experienced teammates and the inferiority that she felt next to the two Avengers and the STRIKE leader, she knew that her training had prepared her well, and that she was fully capable.

They all marched up the ramp of the waiting Quinjet. The other members of the team, to whom Lucy had just been introduced, took the seats toward the back—all but one of the men, who joined Natasha at the front, in the copilot's chair. Lucy found herself seated behind Steve, with Rumlow across from him. She glanced at the leader's rugged profile as he stared straight ahead, through the windshield.

The engine started up, and seconds later, the aircraft rose into the sky and carried them off across the cityscape of DC.

Lucy tried to calm her nerves by going over everything that she had been taught at the academy. She hated not knowing the mission details, but Rumlow had told them that the briefing would be handled en route, seeing as the flight would last a few hours, so she wouldn't have to be kept in suspense for much longer.

It couldn't have been more than five minutes later when Rumlow stood and called everyone to attention. Lucy unbuckled herself from the chair, and as she got to her feet, she noticed Natasha flipping a couple of switches before letting go of the controls and coming to join the rest of STRIKE in front of a monitor.

Lucy found herself at the front of the group, crammed between Steve and the other members of the team. She strove to focus completely on Rumlow, as he began the briefing, and not let herself be distracted by the fact that her shoulder was pressed flush to the silver stripes on the captain's chest.

"We'll set down two miles from the target." Rumlow was saying as he gestured to the terrain mapped out on the screen. "This building—here—is their primary base of operations, but they control most of the opposite side of the island. The shipment is scheduled to leave after nightfall. We get in, corrupt their systems, and destroy the cargo. They have a perimeter, but nothing too sophisticated. Shouldn't be a problem."

He went on to lay out the details of the plan, assigning individuals and small units to various tasks. Lucy listened intently, absorbing every word.

"Everyone got it?" Rumlow finished curtly after a few minutes.

No one else spoke.

"Good."

Lucy stared at the monitor, continuing to drill the landscape of the island into her brain, while the team equipped themselves with explosives. She pulled herself away from the screen in time to receive a utility belt with an assortment of attached devices: a few grenades, and some small timed charges. She instantly recognized them from training. The charges were small, easy to handle, but each held more explosive power than one might expect. More than enough to take out a few smuggling vessels. She strapped on the belt and turned back to the monitor.

She spent some time going over the plan and the specs in her head. Occasionally she would glance Steve's way, to find him seated calmly in his chair, his face once again set in that familiar military-ready expression. As far as she had seen, he hadn't bothered to look at the monitor a second time. He may be a seasoned combat veteran, but this was his first assignment as a member of S.H.I.E.L.D. as much as it was hers. The fact that he was apparently so confident in his abilities that he didn't even need to look at the map more than once made Lucy a bit jealous. _You'll get there eventually,_ she assured herself.

The longer they flew, the more her anticipation mounted. When Natasha finally announced their approach, the anxious butterflies in Lucy's stomach reached a crescendo, but so did the determination. She breathed through the nerves as the aircraft descended, and as soon as it touched down, she got to her feet, along with everyone else, and double-checked the holsters on her hips. The ramp lowered, and the team filed out of the jet and into a small clearing. The surrounding trees were bathed in an orange evening glow. Hours of flight, plus the minor time change, gave Lucy a surreal feeling as she hurried along beside the other STRIKE members, into their wooded surroundings.

She kept close to Steve, Natasha and Rumlow at the front of the pack, her right hand ready to draw a gun at a moment's notice. As the group moved stealthily through the undergrowth, her anxiety gradually faded. All of her training—every simulated mission—vividly replayed itself in her mind, and this familiar scenario made it almost feel as if she had never left the facility.

When they neared the target, the team began to disperse. As Lucy caught sight of Natasha's red hair vanishing into another part of the woods, Steve fluidly lifted his shield from his back and attached it to his forearm, then dodged around a tree and became partially obscured by the surroundings.

As Lucy moved along her own route, she could just barely make out the occasional rustling of foliage somewhere nearby as the other members of the team made their way to the first target. The closer that she came to the smugglers' base of operations, the more her adrenaline increased. Her body felt almost eager to jump into the action. But she wasn't sure whether the feeling was due to her recent inactivity, or her enhancements, as if combat were now in her very cells. She reined it in, knowing full well that any level of over-enthusiasm could be dangerous.

Soon, the building came into view. It was an old, decrepit thing made of concrete, and if Lucy didn't know better, she may have thought that it was abandoned. Her anticipation grew rapidly. _Here we go . . ._

The voice of one of the other agents suddenly came over her earpiece: "One vehicle on the south side of the building. Two armed targets on guard."

"I got 'em," came Natasha's confident voice. Lucy wished that she could see the woman in action, but she had her own part to play. Cautiously skirting the building, opposite Alpha Unit as they prepared to breach, she kept close to the trees and watched for any sign of movement in the immediate area. A dirt road wound its way down to the docks, just as the map had indicated. She followed it.

Other members of the team were on the same course, a couple staying inside of the woods, and one already farther down the road. Lucy kept an eye on him, in addition to her surroundings, for if a threat appeared, he would be the first to know about it.

As it turned out, they encountered no hostiles on the way to the docks. Lucy had hoped that most of the smugglers would be in the building, but as she and the other members of her STRIKE unit laid eyes on the modestly sized shipping vessels, it seemed that most of the men were, unfortunately, at the docks. However, the numbers didn't intimidate her as much as the sudden and thorough realization that whomever she shot might not be getting back up again. This was no longer a training operation, and her guns now held real, lethal ammunition. But she wouldn't let a factor like that hinder her in any way. She had undergone extensive training—and more—for this job, and she would do it. She was prepared. She was ready.

She kept track of the other team members out of the corner of her eye as they each diverted toward a different part of the docks, and she made her own way down to the waterfront and the nearest boat. The approach was simple enough, as long as she was cautious to keep out of sight of the armed men stationed periodically along her path. It was clear that she would have to take one or more of them out of the picture in order to reach the boat.

Ideally, she would synchronize her attack with the others, but being in such close quarters with the targets made it too difficult to use the comms, so she would just have to watch for an opening and do what she could. She crouched behind a stack of crates that had yet to be loaded onto their respective vessel, and drew the handgun from her right holster. With a quick, furtive glance around the crates, she made note of the nearest armed men. One, standing nearer to the boat, partially blocked by more crates, had his back to her. The other, just a few yards away, didn't. Quietly, she slipped the gun back into its holster. It made her nervous to not have it right where she would need it, but seeing as there were more men than she could take on right away, a gun as a number-one option would only draw enemy attention and fire. She would have to rely on her other abilities for the time being.

Suddenly, the man facing in her general direction shifted his weight, seeming rather bored, and turned slightly to look off to one side.

Lucy's insides clenched, and her adrenaline spiked. It was now or never.

She darted out from behind the crates and rushed at the distracted guard. Before he knew what had come upon him, Lucy had swung around, leapt onto his back, wrapped an arm around his neck, and allowed her body's momentum and weight to bring him to the ground.

It had been a relatively quiet takedown, but she still found herself holding her breath in anticipation of another guard coming to investigate while she waited for the first to lose consciousness in her chokehold. It wasn't the fastest method for knocking someone unconscious, and as she fought against the man's insistent struggling, she realized that, in order to carry out her part of the mission with the utmost efficiency, the next guard might warrant something a little more abrupt and brutal.

When the man finally went limp in her arms, she got to her feet and regrouped, quickly locating her next target. He hadn't noticed that anything was amiss, and still had his back to her several yards away. She hadn't heard signs of the other STRIKE members, which meant that they were likely being successful in getting past their own guards. Any minute now, her earpiece could come to life with the news that the rest of the devices had been planted. She definitely didn't want to be the one to take too long and hold everything up.

As soon as she ascertained that no other men were likely to see her, she made her move on the second guard. This time, she struck him hard in the neck, in precisely the right place, just as she had been taught. He staggered, probably trying to get a grasp on what had just happened, then collapsed like a rag doll. Lucy's stomach turned, hoping that she hadn't hit him too hard, but she didn't dwell on it. Partly because she had to move on, and partly because her attention was suddenly diverted by a voice in her ear.

"Beta Unit One—charges set."

The news kicked Lucy into a gear once again. She took one last glance at the surrounding area before making a beeline for the nearest boat.

Her boots had barely made contact with the dock before she leapt into the air and hauled herself over the railing, onto the deck of the vessel.

There was no one in sight, but she knew that she couldn't take that for granted. She could encounter more guards at any turn, and once she was below deck, the close quarters would make combat even more difficult. Treading as lightly as possible, and keeping a vigilant eye and ear out for any sign of hostiles, she navigated her way into the belly of the vessel.

At first, she thought that she was in luck and no one was on board. Still, she approached the next corner slowly, listening for footsteps before peering down the adjoining narrow corridor. It was empty. She moved quickly, not taking the current lack of armed men for granted.

It didn't take long for her to locate the cargo. Stacks of crates filled the hold in skewed rows, as if they had been loaded haphazardly. She moved silently between the crates, scoping out the appropriate locations for the charges, while constantly remaining aware that she could encounter anyone at any time.

Confident that she was alone, she pulled the first explosive cartridge from her belt and attached it to a crate at the far end of the hold. She armed the device, then moved on. As she set all four charges, she hoped that the absence of the enemy meant that there was no one on board at all. The thought of indirectly causing multiple deaths with the use of explosives wasn't sitting well with her. But, seeing as these people were a danger, she had no choice but to do as she had been instructed.

With the final explosive in place, she touched her earpiece and broadcast her status to the rest of the team. "Artemis—charges set."

"Good," came Rumlow's voice from the comm. "Beta Two, what's your status?"

Silence.

Then—

"Almost there! Just give us a—"

There was a grunt, and the line cut off. His voice had sounded strained.

Lucy glanced around the nearest stack of crates, toward the door. Her priority now was to get out of the vessel and clear the blast radius. But rather than retreat from the docks, she would have to locate Beta Two. It seemed like they had run into trouble, and considering that her end of things had been unexpectedly painless, she could spare the time.

As she hurried to the door, her thoughts suddenly turned to Steve. Wherever he was, she hoped that he was alright, and that he hadn't run into any—

A large, brawny figure stepped into the doorway, blocking her path. She halted, and her hand flew to the holster on her right thigh as she retreated a few steps. The man glared at her, raising his own gun. She reflexively dodged behind a stack of crates as a _BANG_ rang out, reverberating off of the metal walls and low ceiling. Another shot was fired, and the round blasted straight through the crate beside Lucy's head.

Without a second thought, she aimed her pistol around the side of the crate at her back, and fired. Her ears range with the din, and she couldn't tell if she had hit the man until a fresh series of rounds came at her. She grimaced against the noise, ducking down as low as she could, before darting behind another stack of crates. Knowing that these would soon be riddled with holes as well, she was quick to take action, and squeezed off a few more rounds at the man. She saw him stumble backwards with an expression of pain, and she stopped, hoping that that had been enough. But he only glared at her and raised his weapon again, a bit more slowly this time. She fired without hesitation, as if instinct had control of her body.

She watched the man slide down the wall, limp and unmoving. She straightened up, her mind suddenly trying to catch up with what had just happened.

She had just killed someone.

She had killed him.

Had she meant to do that?

But she'd had no choice.

She couldn't drag her eyes away.

_You don't have time for this!_ her brain screamed at her. _You have to leave! Now!_

With her stomach in knots, she rushed past the deceased man and out the door. She barely had the presence of mind to check for more adversaries before hurrying off. Stopping in her tracks, she pressed her back to the wall and glanced down the hall, trying to ignore the heavy sound of her pounding heart. When she neither saw nor heard anything, she made for the deck.

She heard the footsteps as she came to the top of the stairs.

A pair of beefy arms reached for her, and she barely managed to avoid them by ducking and throwing herself in the opposite direction. She landed on the deck and rolled back to her feet, careful to avoid accidentally squeezing the trigger of her gun, and faced the new threat before he could catch her off guard again. She tried not to think about the fact that her adrenaline pumping so hard was partially due to fear. She shouldn't be afraid; she was prepared for this. But she couldn't deny that the threat felt different now that the mission wasn't staged. Rather than her eagerness to do well in the academy, her instinct to live was now the driving force that would get her through this.

The man came for her again, swinging a fist at her head. She dodged, and her reflexes kicked in, muscle memory from all of the training with the instructors and Natasha taking over. She slid the pistol back into its holster and swept her leg out in an arc, making contact with the man's solid shoulder. He stumbled to the side, but she didn't have time to be proud of herself, for he wasn't down yet. She deflected his next right hook, kneeing him in the side as she maneuvered around him.

Just as she was beginning to feel that she had a handle on the situation, another pair of footsteps reached her ears. She glanced to the left to see a second man coming straight at her. As she prepared to evade him, she realized, too late, that the first man was much closer than she'd thought. She focused all of her energy on blocking his punch, then the next, while trying to look for an opening that would allow her to escape the incoming dual assault. But there was nowhere to go. Nowhere except . . . She noted the distance between herself and the guardrail. Could she make it? It wasn't too far . . . If she timed it just right—

But the second man had reached her, and the sole of his combat boot connected with her rib cage, knocking her violently off balance. She landed on the deck, hard, and tried desperately to get her bearings before the next blow came, but seeing as she was outnumbered at point-blank range, her odds were not looking good.

"Artemis," came Rumlow's voice suddenly over her comm, "are you clear?"

But as she was forced to throw up her arms to block a fist aimed at her face, she was unable to reply to her superior.

_Pull yourself together!_ she shouted internally. _You can handle these two! This should be nothing!_

As if in response to her scolding, the full extent of her reflexes suddenly seemed to kick in, and she dodged another strike from the second man, immediately deflecting a follow-up from the first, using his own body weight against him and shoving him to the deck. For a few seconds now, she would be able to focus on the other man. He seemed to have a decent amount of training himself, but was relying more on strength than technique. Lucy's speed was an asset, and if she could keep it up, she may be able to tire him out. Whatever had been done to her in the lab, she was grateful that it had provided her with an increase in stamina as well as agility. However, as soon as her other opponent was back on his feet, she would have to split her attention, and thus expend more energy. But she could do it. _Just get this over with! You're supposed to be out of range—!_

Both men were coming at her now. With adrenaline fueling her, she dashed for the guardrail. But rather than diving into the water below, she used the railing to launch herself straight at her nearest foe, wrapping her legs around his chest and her arms around his neck. Putting pressure on his windpipe and carotid artery, she threw her body weight to the side, effectively knocking him off balance. She braced herself for impact as the deck came up to meet them, biting back the jarring pain and concentrating on preventing the man from gaining leverage on her. She was suddenly aware of someone speaking to her over the comm, but through her intense battle focus, she couldn't quite make it out. Not that replying would be possible if she could. She just kept squeezing.

The other man seemed unsure of what to do to help his friend, and in seconds, the thug in Lucy's hold went limp.

She scrambled out from under him and was on her feet again in no time. The other man was already advancing, and nearly on top of her again, so she crouched down and barreled into his gut, putting her weight into her shoulder. He stumbled backwards, and she straightened up before he could land a knee to her face or an elbow to her neck or skull. She dodged a right hook, then threw one herself, catching the man in the jaw and ignoring the pain in her hand. She took a split second to look for a clear route off of the boat. All she needed was a chance to make a break for it, and once she was clear, she could contact Rumlow and reconvene with everyone back at the Quinjet—unless Beta Two still needed assistance.

She ducked underneath another punch, dropped to her knees, and swept her leg out, catching the man's ankles and sending him toppling onto the deck. He wouldn't be able to get up fast enough. This was her chance.

Without a second thought, she pushed herself to her feet and started toward the dock side of the boat—

"Stay where you are!"

Lucy halted, staring down a third man and the barrel of his rifle.

"You're not going anywhere."

Until now, she had been able to take action, even when caught off guard. But in this case, she didn't know whether her draw would be fast enough to beat this man's trigger finger. But if she didn't try something, she would continue to hold up the mission. And he would likely kill her regardless.

"On your knees," he ordered. Lucy didn't move. "Get down! Now!"

She still hesitated. It was either submit or fight. She could be fast enough. If she threw herself out of the way as she drew her gun, she may avoid being shot. Her training told her that it was the only option. And the man's thin layer of patience looked to be wearing even thinner. It was now or never.

Her fingers twitched slightly as she prepared herself to draw. The image of the man that she had shot in the hold came to mind, bloody and unmoving. Her hand didn't want to obey her command to take out the gun. _What is wrong with you? They're counting on you. You have a job to do! He's going to kill you!_

But her muscles were rebelling, as if she were locked in a terrifying sort of limbo.

The man ordered her to get on her knees once again, and she had a feeling that that was the last time that he would bother to say it. And it was. But not because he was sick of waiting.

Out of nowhere, a shiny disk-like object suddenly hurtled through the air and collided with the man. He grunted in shock as he was knocked off of his feet, landing a few yards away. He didn't get up.

Lucy's heart skipped a beat. She whipped around, looking toward the docks for the source of the abrupt attack, just as a familiar figure, clad in his new tactical suit, leapt over the guardrail, his boots landing heavily on the deck, his shield back in place on his arm. His hair was tousled, and a sheen of sweat coated his face and the visible portion of his neck. The sight took her back to the streets of New York.

"You alright?" His crystal-clear eyes bored into her, serious concern painted over his features.

The flood of relief that had swept through her at the sight of him increased at the sound of his voice. She nodded, her hand relaxing at her hip. "Yeah. Thanks . . ."

He nodded once, in his brusque military-ready manner. "Let's go."

She followed him back over the guardrail, and they took off running as soon as their feet hit the dock. She hadn't realized just how warm she felt, after the fight, until the air began to cool her own sweat-coated neck and forehead as she sprinted back up the road with the captain.

After a few dozen more yards, he touched his ear. "We're clear!"

Lucy braced herself.

Seconds later, several terribly loud and tightly clustered explosions rocked the air. Lucy felt the shock waves at her back. But she didn't falter. She just kept running, past the old, decrepit building, from which a few STRIKE agents were currently retreating, and back to the waiting Quinjet, with Steve at her side.

* * *

_**Note:** Thank you all for your patience! I'm so sorry that it has taken me so long to finish this chapter. In September I was hit with the worst writer's block that I've had in years, and starting in October I've been trying to meet a lot of personal goals with my original works, so even though I've been working on this story every single day, it's been really slow. I hope to be able to speed it up again, but I can't predict how things will work out, especially with the arrival of the holiday season, but I'll do my best! :) Also, from now on, I will be posting writing-status updates of each new chapter in my bio, because I hate leaving people wondering what's going on._  
_Lastly, thank you, to all of my new readers, for giving this story a chance, and to everyone who's still sticking with it! ^_^ I have certain things that I want to include before we reach the Winter Soldier arc, so I hope that you're enjoying the ride so far, and will continue to enjoy it as we go. :)_

_P.S. I'm kind of amazed at how long this chapter turned out to be. It's the longest so far, at more than 7,600 words. *^*_

_P.P.S. Happy upcoming Thanksgiving to all of you Americans, and also to all of you non-Americans, because it's always good to be thankful, and I like being wished happy foreign holidays myself. ^^ hehe (I can't wait for turkey, stuffing, cranberries, and sweet-potato casserole with pecans!)_


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

The low, monotonous rumble of the jet's engine was all that could be heard as the team made their way back to headquarters. No one had spoken after the debriefing, and Lucy wished that someone would. She could still feel the earth-shaking explosions throughout her body, and the bloody image of the man in the hold kept cropping up in her mind's eye. She needed something to distract her from the constant sickening pit in her stomach.

She glanced over at Steve, yet again, and he looked up in time to catch her eye with a concerned expression. She gave him a small smile and averted her eyes once more. The last thing she wanted to do was make him worry about her. After all, she was fine—just a little shaken up. It was probably pretty normal to react like this after going through what she just had for the first time. She would get over it. And it was bound to get easier with every mission. She didn't want to burden her friend with her own mental and emotional hang-ups, nor did she want to appear weak in contrast to the calm, stoic air of everyone else on the team. Her eyes drifted over to Rumlow, and then to a couple of the other members. Some of them were a little worse for wear, but at least none had been lost, and the mission had been a success. She had done her part well. Of that, she could be proud. She would just have to assume—and hope—that, in the same way that her body had grown accustomed to the physical training, her mind would grow accustomed to what was expected of her on these missions, and someday soon, it might not effect her anymore. Then again, maybe she wouldn't be forced to take a life frequently enough to get used to it. Which would be a good thing, but having to deal with this feeling throughout her entire career with S.H.I.E.L.D. was not something that she had foreseen when she'd agreed to Pierce's offer. She probably should have.

She let her mind wander, while trying to aim it in the direction of her parents, Lena, even her old coworkers—anything to pass the time as pleasantly as possible. She eventually resorted to singing some of her favorite songs in her head.

Finally, they reached DC, and the Quinjet descended to the landing pad. As soon as it touched down, the hatch lowered, and the members of STRIKE disembarked. It was night, and the chill in the air reached Lucy through her tactical suit. She was suddenly aware of just how tired she felt. She was more than ready to get out of the uniform, retreat back to the quiet safety of her new home, and curl up in bed for the rest of the night. Surely she would feel better after some good sleep. Or maybe she wouldn't have such an easy time calming her mind, no matter how exhausted she was. Either way, she was no longer required to remain at headquarters, and that was relieving.

The team made their way back to the armory, and Lucy wasted no time in unloading her gear, heading straight for the locker room, stripping off the snug catsuit, and stepping into the nearest shower. The cascade of water over her back and neck was effectively washing away the sweat, working to soothe her muscles, and she wished that it could be so easy to wash away the unwelcome image of the bloodied man in her mind's eye.

Steve was already waiting for her when she returned to the garage. The sight of him once again in his casual attire, his brown leather jacket and button-down shirt replacing the bold star and stripes, was somehow comforting. As she approached him, she realized that he didn't look nearly as tired as she felt. She hoped that she didn't look it either.

"You okay?" he asked.

Lucy smiled as well as she could. "Yeah. Ready to go home."

"Yes, Ma'am."

He swung one leg over the bike, and she followed suit, taking her place behind him. This time, she didn't hesitate to secure her arms around his waist.

She huddled against his broad back as they drove out into the night, across the bridge. The wind whipped at her short hair as she gazed at the water. The Potomac was a grand sight in the darkness, lit by the moonlight and the nearby security lights of the Triskelion. She was back—home, as she had come to start thinking of this city. But tonight, it felt a little different. This may be the first time for her to see the river and S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters in the darkness, but that wasn't the cause. As if something were missing. Changed.

She equated it to homesickness, but knew that it was due to what had happened on the assignment. She closed her eyes and resisted leaning her head against the man in front of her. Sleep. Sleep would fix this. She had always felt better after a good night's sleep when it came to arguments with her parents and other upsetting matters. Her inviting apartment with its cozy bed was waiting for her. She just had to bear with it a little while longer. She focused on Steve's solid, reassuring form as he steered the motorcycle through DC traffic, embracing the change in motion as she leaned with him at every turn.

Steve pulled into his usual spot and killed the engine, leaving the sparsely lighted street in abrupt quiet disrupted only by the distant ambient noise of the busier parts of the city.

The two of them climbed the front steps. Steve unlocked the door, and, like the natural gentleman that he was, pushed it open and allowed Lucy to enter the house before himself. As they climbed the stairs, Lucy was perhaps a bit overly conscious of his presence behind her. She got off at the second floor, then, realizing that she hadn't thanked Steve for driving her home, turned to look back at him—and saw that he had paused on the landing.

"Thanks for the ride." As soon as she had spoken, she realized that it was probably unnecessary to have thanked him, considering that he hadn't really had a choice in the matter, since he had brought her to headquarters in the first place. She felt foolish, but Steve merely smiled, his eyes soft and kind.

"You're welcome."

"Good night," she said, returning the smile with some lingering embarrassment.

"Good night."

She headed for her apartment without further delay, and heard Steve's footsteps continuing up the stairs once again as she unlocked her door.

The homey apartment was quiet. Too quiet. She turned on the nearest lamp in the living room, feeling much too alone. But she repressed the feeling and went straight for the bedroom to change out of her street clothes. _Sleep,_ she reminded herself. _Sleep is the only thing that matters right now._

And sleep came. Rather easily at that.

Then, she was jolted awake by a vivid dream that had grown too unpleasant to sleep through.

She took a few moments to come to her senses, then sighed with a soft groan when she realized that it was still dark out. She closed her eyes, hoping for sleep to take her again, but the dream—the nightmare—was at the forefront of her mind, making it difficult to relax. She turned over and tried to force the images from her brain.

Before long, she heaved a sigh and gave up. She got out of bed and headed for the bathroom.

When she returned, she noticed that the soft, dim blue light of early dawn was visible around the edges of her bedroom shades. Knowing that she wasn't likely to have any luck with sleep again, she made the decision to step outside for a while. She hadn't had this much trouble sleeping since those nights at the training facility.

After changing into semi-loose-fitting sweatpants and a T-shirt, she grabbed her phone and a pair of earbuds, slipped on a hoodie, and left the apartment, making sure to remember her keys. They jingled slightly in her hoodie pocket as she descended the stairs, and partway down, she thought that she heard the front door close. She reached the entryway a few seconds later and opened the door. The brisk dawn air sent a chill through her, helping to clear away the rest of her grogginess. She looked left, toward the street corner, then right—and saw him, walking away. Though his back was to her, clad in a hooded navy-blue sweatshirt coupled with a pair of grey sweatpants, she knew, without question, that it was him.

She hesitated, unsure about whether to call out to him, but only for a moment.

"Steve?"

He stopped and turned around. A smile parted his lips, and he jogged back to her. "Morning. You're up early."

"Yeah. Couldn't sleep," she admitted, trying to sound like it wasn't a big deal.

"Care to join me?" he asked, and as soon as Lucy gave him a quizzical look, he elaborated. "I'm gonna go for a run, down at the park. It's a bit of a walk, but, if you want . . ."

Lucy smiled eagerly, thankful for the unexpected distraction. "I'd love to. Thanks."

Lucy fell into step beside the captain, and instantly, that familiar, comforting feeling that she hadn't experienced in a while returned to her. The morning chill was nearly forgotten as they walked side by side.

It was quite a walk to the park, but Lucy didn't mind in the least, and by the time they arrived, the grogginess had dissipated, and the nightmare had stopped bothering her.

The trees parted, leading into the enormous man-made clearing. The vast Reflection Pool stretched out before them, and at the opposite end stood the sharp, imposing spire that was the Washington Monument. It was all somehow even more grand than Lucy had imagined after seeing it in countless pictures and movies over the course of her life.

Despite the lengthy walk, the sight of what lay before her, bathed in the sparse, pale light of the rising sun and completely devoid of tourists, like some other world, made her want to run.

Steve looked down at her. "Well?"

She smiled, a sudden excitement overcoming her. "I'll race you."

The captain smirked, a grin threatening to break through. "You're on."

There was a moment in which the two of them just watched each other, both waiting for the other to make the first move. Then, they took off, racing toward the wide, glassy stretch of water.

The pale orange, yellow and dusky lavender of the dawn sky reflected in the surface of the Pool, making their surroundings feel even more vast and magnificent as they ran alongside it. Steve easily took the lead, but Lucy, determined to put up a decent fight before she was left in the dust, ran harder. She felt the weight of her phone and heard the faint jingling of her keys in her hoodie pocket, and hoped that they wouldn't fall out, for she was having too much fun to stop and take heed of them.

She kept her eyes on Steve's back. It wasn't until they were nearing the end of the Reflection Pool that she realized that she wasn't falling any farther behind him. _He's going easy on me!_

She forced her legs to pump faster, her muscles and lungs working overtime, and slowly gained a couple of feet on the man in front of her.

"That all you got, Captain?" she teased, and, predictably, the super soldier increased his pace. Relishing the challenge, she ran even harder, and was surprised and excited to find that she wasn't being left in the dust.

They rounded the far end of the Pool and raced back. Steve made it to their starting point mere feet ahead of Lucy. She slowed and came to a stop, trying to catch her breath, feeling more exhilarated than spent. She had never run so hard in her life, and it felt incredible.

She turned to Steve and said with a smile as her heart rate began to decrease, "You didn't have to go easy on me."

He shook his head, looking at her with a slightly raised eyebrow. "You're underestimating yourself. Seems like you've gotten faster."

Taken aback, Lucy stared at him for a moment, processing. _Wait . . ._ She turned and beheld the enormous length of the Reflection Pool. It hadn't seemed that long a moment ago. She looked back to Steve with a tiny, teasing smile. "You mean . . . I almost beat Captain America in a foot race?"

"_Almost_," he stressed, a smirk of his own gracing his lips. "Don't get ahead of yourself, Artemis."

Lucy exhaled a small laugh, surprised by his sudden use of her code name in retaliation. "Really?"

Steve shrugged nonchalantly and gazed into the distance, toward the Washington Monument. He then looked back to the young woman beside him. "Wanna try again?"

Lucy's eyes narrowed slightly at the challenge. She didn't even need to think about it.

The pair took off once more, alongside the crisp, still water in the soft light of the rising sun. 

* * *

Lucy closed the door of her apartment behind her, feeling both exhilarated and pleasantly tired from the early-morning sprints and the long walks to and from the park. The intense workout with Steve—with her friend—gave her that sense of normalcy that she had been sorely missing. Now feeling much more positive than when she had awakened, she headed straight for the kitchen for a drink of water, then to the shower to freshen up.

She toweled off her hair and set to making herself a simple breakfast of a fried egg, toast with strawberry jam, and a tall glass of ice water. Food in hand, she made herself comfortable on the sofa and turned on the television. Not feeling too much like watching the news after the stress of the previous night and the good time that she'd had this morning, she flipped through the guide until a title caught her eye: The Adventures of Robin Hood. She turned straight to it.

When she was younger she had watched the classic Errol Flynn movie quite a bit, but it had now been many years since she'd seen it. She smiled through a bite of toast as Robin forced his way past the guards and into the great hall by fending them off and knocking them to the ground with the buck that he carried across his shoulders. Once he had tossed the deer onto the head table in front of Prince John, the banter ensued. Lucy loved witty banter, particularly in the form of Shakespeare and other bygone or infrequently used styles of the English language.

Prince John proceeded to introduce Lady Marian to Robin.

The man in green removed his hand respectfully and bowed. _"I hope my lady had a pleasant journey from London?"_

Marian looked at him with contempt. _"What you hope can hardly be important."_ Lucy smirked inwardly at the lady's current disdain for the young man.

_"What a pity her manners don't match her looks, Your Highness,"_ Robin quipped. Marian continued to glare at him.

Prince John laughed. _"You hear that, gentlemen? Here's poor Gisbourne so in love with Marian he daren't say 'boo' to her, but this saucy fellow gives her better than she sends."_

Lucy continued with her breakfast as Robin was invited to dine, then put her plate aside and settled in to watch the rest of the movie. It was a beautiful film, and she had always assumed that it had been made in the 1950s or '60s, so to find out that it was from 1938 had definitely been a surprise. Ahead of its time, it seemed, much like the sweeping, gorgeous Lord of the Rings films had been.

The forest-feast scene began with the rollicking announcement, _"To the tables, everybody, and stuff yourselves!"_ which made Lucy smile. That had always been one of her and her parents' favorite lines.

As the movie went on, she found herself wondering whether Steve had seen it, and her mind began to wander a bit, thinking of other movies from the thirties and early forties that he may have seen. It was kind of mind-blowing to think that he must have gone to the movie theater all those decades ago, when these kinds of films were new and so exciting. She had, in the past, wondered what that would have been like. Sure, she appreciated and liked many old movies, but to experience them as she would a contemporary action-adventure would really be something.

Following the movie, Lucy got up to take care of her dishes from breakfast, get some more water, and take a trip to the bathroom, as one of TCM's between-movie specials played. Seeing as she had done the laundry the day before, there wasn't much to accomplish in the way of chores, so it felt like a good day for movies.

It appeared to be Errol Flynn day, for Captain Blood was on next. Lucy hunkered in for a second time, looking forward to this one for an entirely different reason than Robin Hood: It had been so long that she didn't remember it at all. She wished that she had some homemade popcorn.

After a while, she found herself glancing at her phone on the side table, thinking not of Lena, but of Steve. She was suddenly tempted to text him and ask what he was up to, but decided against it almost as quickly as the thought had come to her—though she wasn't sure why. He probably wouldn't mind hearing from her; they were friends. He had given her no reason to assume that texting him would be an annoyance. And yet, she refrained, focusing back on the movie. Although, from then on, she couldn't get the idea of a movie night with Steve out of her head. She wondered if he watched many movies. Televisions seemed more commonplace than smartphones, but to a man of the early decades of the twentieth century, was a TV really any easier to operate? Of course, he would surely know how to use one by now.

She often wondered what he occupied himself with when she was cleaning or hanging around her apartment, but now she really began to wonder. She couldn't imagine that he did absolutely nothing just because he was still new to modern life. Maybe he liked to read? She reflexively glanced back at her phone. Before she had really made up her mind either way, the device was in her hand. She unlocked it and pulled up her contacts. For some reason, her heart was beating a little harder than usual. She tried to ignore it as she scrolled through the list. She stopped, and the captain's name stared back at her. She lifted her thumb from the screen, to avoid accidentally calling him. It took a few seconds, but she decided to give it a try. Her thumb hovered for a second longer, and in that moment of indecision, the screen abruptly changed to the caller ID, and the device vibrated, startling her so badly that she nearly dropped it. For an instant, she thought—_hoped_—that it could be Steve. And she tried not to feel disappointed when she saw Lena smiling up at her from her display picture. On the bright side, talking to her best friend would prevent her from struggling over whether or not to text Steve. It felt like a bit of a cop-out, but at the moment, she would take it. She answered the call.

Lena's cheerful voice greeted her, and they launched into a casual conversation while Lucy absently continued to watch the movie.

The afternoon came and went uneventfully, Lucy having given up the notion of contacting Steve, and soon it was time for dinner. And, as she had spent the day sitting around, she now had the urge to go out. Considering both of these things, and the fact that there wasn't much left in her cupboards and fridge, she decided that Chinese food sounded fantastic. After a quick search for nearby restaurants, she headed out.

As she made her way downstairs, she couldn't help but wonder what Steve was doing for dinner. Did he cook? She wasn't sure if she could properly imagine Captain America preparing a home-cooked meal, but the thought made her smile. Maybe she would text him when she got back and ask whether he liked Chinese takeout.

It was amazing how a life-or-death situation like she had experienced the previous day could make her feel more secure walking through the city streets alone as night began to fall. She had briefly considered driving, but somehow, going on foot and potentially having to defend herself from a mugger seemed less daunting than navigating the busy streets in an unfamiliar vehicle.

The cool September night was refreshing, so by the time that she had walked the few blocks to the restaurant, she was more than ready for some hot food. The sharp, vivid aromas of Asian spices hit her as soon as she stepped into the quaint little place. She had made a good choice.

After placing her order, she stood aside and watched what she could see of the bustle in the semi-open kitchen. The sizzling of ingredients in searing-hot pans and the clanking of kitchenware acted as a pleasant kind of background noise for the few patrons currently eating at the tables.

Service was fast, and she was soon walking out with a paper bag filled abundantly with steaming cardboard cartons. The aromas practically made her salivate as she hugged the bag close and began to retrace her route back to her apartment.

She was still a couple of blocks from home when she heard it.

A scream.

She stopped in her tracks, searching in the rapidly increasing darkness for the woman. Cries of distress continued after the initial scream, enabling Lucy to zero in on the direction of the apparent victim, and she took off as fast as she could, slightly hindered by the bag in her arms.

It didn't take her long to find the source of the cries.

As she approached the dark alleyway, nerves twisted her stomach, but she immediately quelled them by reminding herself that she had very recently taken on multiple armed men, and what she was about to step into here would probably be a minor detour in comparison. Still, her pulse began to quicken as she steeled herself and entered the shadowy gap between buildings.

The woman had apparently been struggling valiantly against her assailant as he'd attempted to wrench her purse from her hands, though it couldn't have been long, since Lucy had reached the alley quickly, thanks to her enhanced speed. She was just in time to see the man racing away with the small bag, the woman having fallen to the rough, dirty concrete. Lucy practically dropped her bag of food, and took off after the culprit without hesitation.

The shadowy figure wheeled around the corner, onto the street ahead, with Lucy gaining rapidly. "Stop!" she cried, though she knew ahead of time that the thief would not heed her command.

She closed the gap within the next block, and grabbed a handful of his shirt, bringing him to an abrupt halt. The man immediately spun around and swung his arm at her. She barely had to think about it as her instincts kicked in. She blocked the attack and forced the man backwards, into the nearest wall.

"Drop it," she demanded forcefully, pinning him in place. He glared at her and tried to throw her off, but she managed to hold him still, adrenaline pumping through her in a steady wave.

After a moment, it was clear that the man had no intention of handing over the purse, so Lucy increased the pressure on him slightly before reaching for the bag in his right hand.

Suddenly, a pain shot through her skull, accompanied by a sharp ringing in her ears, and she doubled over, temporarily losing her focus on the task at hand. Panic arose within her as the incident on the field back at the training facility flashed vividly through her mind. _Why is this happening again? It wasn't supposed to happen again!_

Somehow, despite the pain, she managed to keep her grip on the man in front of her, and after a few seconds of struggle, she grit her teeth and reached for the bag once again. She tore it from the man's hand and prepared herself for a fight, but apparently he did not want to bother with her, for which she was immensely grateful, considering that the pain had increased, and as soon as the thief had fled down the sidewalk, she was on her knees.

She bent over, clutching her head, the only thought in her mind a repetitive plea for whatever was happening to stop and for her to not be dying. Then, the ringing faded, and the pain ebbed, and she was left sitting on the cold concrete, in the quiet of the city street. She felt shaken and somewhat weak—whether from fear, or the pain, or the aftermath of the adrenaline, she wasn't entirely sure. But she was alive, and conscious. And, in spite of the sudden, frightening episode, she had succeeded in recovering the woman's belongings. Even so, the traumatic incident seemed to have made it impossible for her to move. Her heart still pounded, and she could only stare at the pavement, practically holding her breath in anticipation of more pain. She could almost feel the pressure building in her skull . . .

Suddenly, a light pinging tone from inside of her pocket cut through the night, jarring her out of her trance. As if only now realizing her current position, she glanced around, scanning the area for anyone who might have witnessed the incident, but there was currently no one in sight. She let out a relieved, trembling breath, hoping that no one had passed by without her noticing, and dug into her pocket to retrieve her phone.

_1 Unread Message: Steve_

A different kind of adrenaline surged through her, effectively clearing her head, and she could hardly open the message fast enough as she got back to her feet, clutching the purse strap tightly.

_'How are you holding up?'_

She stared down at the screen and felt her chest constrict. How could he have known that she'd needed to hear from him at that moment?

As her thumb hovered over the keyboard to reply, she hesitated. She wanted to tell him. But did she want him to worry? Was it necessary? She focused on her physical state, the seconds passing as she tried to determine whether she was out of the woods—which she really had no way of knowing. What had even triggered it? Had she overexerted herself? But she had been fine during the mission . . . She closed her eyes, struggling against the urge to just tell her friend everything and have him come running—as she knew that he would—but she suddenly became especially conscious of the weight of the purse in her hand, and with some difficulty, she steered her mind in another direction. She began to type.

_'I'm okay. Join me for dinner? If you like Chinese food.'_

Several seconds passed. Then, her stomach gave a tiny flutter of excitement and hope as she saw that he was replying.

_'I'd love to.'_

_'Cool,'_ she wrote, wishing that she had the presence of mind to come up with something a little more eloquent. _'I'll let you know when I get home.'_

She pocketed her phone, and with one last fleeting glance at her surroundings, she began to retrace her steps, back to the alley, hoping that the woman—and her bag of takeout—would still be there. 

* * *

_**Note****:** Once again, thank you for all of your patience! I have some good, solid plans for these next chapters, and I'm so looking forward to them! I can't see Chapter 18 taking as long as 16 and 17, but I don't want to assume incorrectly, just in case something comes up... lol_  
_I will continue to post writing-status updates on my profile! :)_

_P.S. I hope that you're all having a good year so far~_


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

Lucy dropped the cumbersome bag of takeout onto the kitchen counter, then momentarily closed her eyes, putting a hand to her forehead. She could almost still feel the pain. Should she tell someone about it? Fury, perhaps? If there was something wrong with her, she may not be fit for duty. But she recalled what the doctor had said, back at the training facility—that it shouldn't be a regular occurrence; that she would be just fine—and it gave her some relief. This new flare-up was probably the same thing as before: a temporary side effect from the changes that her body had undergone. _Temporary._ Uncomfortable, but short-lived, and ultimately nothing to worry about. If she told someone about it, they would probably just conduct another examination before telling her the same thing as before. And she would really prefer to avoid any more medical examinations for a while.

Heaving a sigh, she made up her mind: There was no point in reporting this single incident. If it continued, then she would have to say something, but for all that she knew, it could never happen again, and as long as she was still able to do her job, that's all that really mattered. For now, she would trust the doctor's word.

Feeling a little better, she focused her attention back on the task at hand. Thanks to the unexpected detour, the food was probably cold. Not that she minded, but Steve might wonder about the temperature, considering that they only lived a few short blocks from the restaurant. Still, taking back her dinner offer wasn't an option. She needed to see him. She retrieved her phone and sent him a message before unloading the bag.

She had barely dished up the first carton of General Tso's chicken with rice and started it in the microwave when the knock came at the door. She hurried to answer it, and found Steve standing there with that twinkle in his eye, and no leather jacket this time. She smiled, his presence immediately brightening her mood. "Hi, come on in."

"Why, thank you, Ma'am," he replied with his own, gentle smile and that charming old-world air that she so enjoyed. He stepped into her apartment and closed the door behind himself, just as the microwave signaled with a lengthy _beeeeeeep_ that it had finished reheating the first round of takeout.

Lucy warmed up the rest of the food and laid everything out on the kitchen table—she found the thought of making Steve sit on the couch in front of the TV with her somewhat inappropriate—and she and her dinner guest sat down to the rather elaborate meal. She had splurged a little and ordered a variety of dishes, but the prices weren't as bad as she had been expecting, so she didn't regret it. Especially since she got to share it all with her friend, who did not seem to mind that the food had needed to be reheated. Though, surely he wouldn't express such a concern if he had one.

She quelled her silly, paranoid negative thoughts by taking a bite of a steaming Chinese dumpling.

They ate in pleasant silence for some time, with Lucy making an attempt to not dwell on what had happened less than an hour ago—or, more importantly, yesterday's traumatic incident, which never stopped nagging at her, no matter what she was doing or thinking. But, despite her efforts, her face must have given something away.

"You okay?"

She looked up from her plate, meeting Steve's curious and slightly concerned gaze across the table. She nodded, quickly schooling her features into an expression of mild surprise, hoping that she hadn't looked too worried. "Mm-hm, why?"

Raising his eyebrows slightly, Steve met her gaze, seeming to consider her for a few moments before replying. "Is it the mission?"

Lucy blinked, faltering slightly. "What do you mean?"

From the way that Steve was looking at her, she knew that he had read her very well. And that he knew that she understood what he was talking about. Resigned to the fact that he wasn't likely to let her get out of this without providing him with what he wanted to know, she cast her gaze down to her plate and wondered how exactly to begin. She did not want to appear weak in front of him, especially not after he had looked practically unaffected by what had occurred during their assignment. But this was _Steve_, the kindest, most understanding person she knew—aside from, perhaps, her parents. It was foolish to think that he would hold any negative effects that she might be suffering from the mission against her.

Looking down at the table, she steeled herself.

"I— . . . shot someone . . ."

The word _"killed"_ had gotten caught in her throat.

Silence followed her admission, and a few moments later, she brought her eyes up to the man sitting across from her. His clear blue gaze met hers, and it seemed that he understood what she had meant to say. However, she was relieved to see that his expression was not one of distaste or criticism.

Nor was it one of pity.

After a few moments, he dropped his gaze to his plate, as if in thought. Lucy once again wondered about his own experiences as a new member of an organized military force, decades prior. Had he done what she had done? Somehow it seemed out of character for the World War II-era Captain America. But who knew how much the media might have sugar-coated things? And how much were they kept ignorant about? She couldn't imagine accomplishing what he had without taking at least one life. But she wasn't sure if it made her feel better to imagine that he had. She didn't want anyone to have to feel what she had felt after seeing that man lying dead in the cargo hold and knowing that she was the reason for it—even if it was self-defense. Especially not Steve Rogers.

Then, he looked up again, and his solemn words and gaze told Lucy that, whether or not he had done the same as she had, he understood exactly how she felt. "I'm sorry."

She looked down at her plate, suddenly unable to meet his eyes.

"I wish it didn't have to come to that," he continued.

"It's part of the job, right?" Lucy replied, forcing a tiny smile. "I'll be fine."

Steve cracked a small smile of his own. There was so much wisdom in those eyes. "I know you will."

Though hardly anything had been said, Lucy felt like a burden had been removed from her. Like she was able to move on from the traumatic event, and perhaps face the next mission with less apprehension than she would have if she hadn't opened up to her friend.

They resumed their meal, the atmosphere feeling lighter now. Lucy smiled to herself. She even thought that the food tasted better this time around. 

* * *

"Two minutes," Natasha announced from the pilot's chair before letting the autopilot take over and getting up to join the rest of the team.

Steve pulled on his mask, and Lucy moved to stand beside him near the hatch as the other members of STRIKE checked their weapons. This time, it was night, and the interior of the Quinjet was dark, aside from the glow of the monitors and some minor backlighting. She braced herself with one hand on the wall as the jet began to slow.

"You ready?"

She looked up at the sound of Steve's voice amid the noise of the engine and the gear checks going on behind them. A week ago, she hadn't thought that she would be able to handle another mission so soon, but here she was, and as she met the captain's inquisitive yet serious gaze, she nodded and replied, with more confidence than she had felt her first time boarding the Quinjet with her team, "Yeah. I'm ready."

The jet touched down. STRIKE lined up behind Steve and Natasha. Lucy took one last moment to prepare herself.

The ramp lowered.

They moved into the surrounding trees and traversed the dark woods at a steady pace. Lucy's eyes adjusted quickly, and she recalled the nighttime training missions that she had run with her fellow recruits. She may not be familiar with this forest, but the process of navigating it was the same. This alone gave her a good amount of confidence. Keeping mental tabs on her teammates, she reviewed the mission specs in her mind as they drew nearer to the warehouse with each step.

The trees ended at an overgrown dirt road. The team followed it, but kept to the grass on either side, for the sake of a quick duck-and-cover if they were spotted. Finally, they came to a chain-link fence. They skirted the property line, and the large building loomed up before them. Security lights cut harshly through the thick darkness. There was one truck parked near the entrance, and Lucy spotted a couple of men loitering by the door. She could not tell if they were armed, but it was only safe to assume that they were.

Before reaching the first pool of light, Steve leapt over the fence like it was barely there, and took off running across the grass, toward the truck and the guards. Lucy kept an eye on him, while moving swiftly toward the driveway with the rest of the team.

The unprotected gate was easy enough to get through: A couple of rounds from Natasha's handgun did the trick, and the team breached the perimeter. The unmistakable sound of a man getting hit by something blunt reached Lucy's ears, and as they rounded the truck seconds later, she saw the captain securing his shield back onto his arm, both of the guards lying unconscious at his feet.

"Nice work, Cap," Natasha quipped, moving past him, to the warehouse door, without a second glance. As Lucy followed, she looked up and spotted two small devices, each hanging from the wall in a mess of wires and cracked metal. It seemed that Steve had done a number on the security cameras just as quickly as he had taken out the guards. If the rest of the mission shaped up to be this easy, they were golden—

_Click._

Lucy's attention moved to the door, in time to see Natasha stand up from a crouch in front of it. "Thank you, Nick," she murmured with an audible smirk, hooking her electronic lock-cracking device back onto her belt before grasping the door's handle. Lucy, Steve, and the rest of STRIKE prepared themselves for the breach.

The captain took the lead as they rushed in, weapons at the ready, and fanned out, covering every possible blind spot. The room was vast. It was your standard warehouse in structure—but not in contents. Lucy had almost hoped that this would be the wrong place, that they wouldn't find what they were looking for. That the threat wasn't real. But as soon as she laid eyes on the waist-high cylindrical object standing in the midst of the group of men and women in the center of the room, the gravity of the situation was driven home. Her determination intensified, as did her adrenaline.

As soon as they realized that their operation had been discovered, the group surrounding the bomb jumped into action. Some made a run for it, while others drew guns and fired at the intruders. Lucy, Natasha and STRIKE scattered, taking cover behind the nearest available stack of crates, while Steve rushed into the oncoming fire, ducked behind his shield, to thwart the spray of bullets. They _tinged_ off of the vibranium, and as he neared the remaining members of the group, many of them had begun to back away or retreat altogether. Those who didn't were quickly taken out of the equation as the super soldier slammed into one with his shield, as if it were a battering ram, sending him flying, then disarmed the other two in such rapid succession that they had no time to react.

Lucy's attention was suddenly pulled from Steve's impressive display when hurried footsteps from off to one side caught her ear. She looked past the crates, into the shadows near the wall, and saw two of the fleeing terrorists coming her way. Without hesitation, she stepped into their path, taking them off guard and using their momentary surprise to her advantage. She quickly immobilized them, laying them flat out on the concrete. She withdrew two pairs of thin but effective restraints from her belt and secured both the man's and the woman's hands behind their backs, as they groaned softly in mild pain and discomfort.

As soon as she finished, she cast her gaze around the immediate area, and when she saw no more movement, she circled around to where she had last seen Steve. Most of STRIKE was now gathered near the bomb, the captain standing in their midst as one of the agents crouched beside the device, inspecting its various components.

Realizing that Natasha was not present, Lucy glanced around until she caught sight of her up on a catwalk. The redhead swung her legs over the railing, and Lucy's stomach dropped as she landed on the ground floor as if it were nothing, leaving three terrorists cuffed to the railing, and seemingly unconscious, up on the second level. She strode over to the group, in her confident, nonchalant manner, coming to stand next to Steve.

"So? What are we looking at?"

"Doesn't seem like anything major," replied the man examining the bomb. "Shouldn't take more than a couple of minutes to disarm it. But . . ."

Natasha almost groaned. "Oh, not a but . . ."

"What is it?" Steve prompted.

"There's no timer . . . not that I can find . . ."

"Shit," Rumlow cursed under his breath. "Spread out; search the terrorists. One of them has to have a detonator."

Adrenaline spiked in Lucy's system. A timed detonation was intimidating enough, but when a manual detonator was involved, the bomb could be set off at any time. It was a good thing that everyone had been taken care of. The three that Steve had disarmed had been cuffed just like the others, and with them, Lucy's two, and Natasha's apparent three, that made seven. There had appeared to be more than seven when the team had entered the warehouse, but they had likely been dealt with by Rumlow and the others while Lucy had been busy.

She crouched down beside the nearest of the three who had held their ground against Captain America, and began to dig through the pockets of his jacket and jeans as quickly and thoroughly as possible, while trying to ignore how strange it felt to be doing such a thing to someone—especially while that someone was unconscious.

Just as she was about to move on to the next man, motion caught her eye. Her head snapped up, focused intensely on the other side of the warehouse. She could hear hurried footsteps.

Before she knew it, she was up and running.

"Lucy?!" Steve called after her.

She only had time to yell back, "Someone's getting away!" before she dashed around a stack of crates then through an open door, into a narrow hallway. The figure shoved his way through an external door up ahead, disappearing from view, and Lucy picked up her speed. All that she could think of was the missing detonator. If this person had it, and they got clear of the warehouse . . .

With her heart pounding dangerously hard, the adrenaline and rising panic sent her racing out into the night.

The rust-orange glow from the nearest security light illuminated the figure—a woman—as she sprinted across the grass. Lucy ran harder. She wanted to yell for her to stop, but she didn't want to waste breath on something that would be pointless. She had to catch her. She wasn't too far away . . .

She heard the door behind her slam open once again.

Suddenly, without slowing to turn around, the woman held up her right hand and shouted, "Stop!"

Lucy's blood ran cold when she saw the object in the woman's grip.

"Let me go, or I'll—"

Almost without thought, Lucy leapt at the terrorist's back, reaching with everything that she had. Her fingers caught the woman's jacket, and her momentum brought them both to the ground in a painful tumble. In a moment of horror, she realized that her sudden action may have been the wrong one, and that she may have just caused the bomb to go off at any second, but as she scrambled to get her bearings, no explosion filled the air.

She grabbed the woman's arm and and found her hand empty. Almost frantically she started to scan the surrounding grass. _Too dark—I need more light!_

Then, Steve was beside her.

"The detonator!" she cried. "It's here somewhere—!"

The terrorist growled in frustration and perhaps her own measure of desperation, and grabbed at Lucy, attempting to stop her from getting to the device first. The two women grappled, and it took almost no effort or time for Lucy to pin the other down.

"Got it," Steve announced from a few meters away, and Lucy felt the fear leaving her body, along with a good deal of tension. She reached for another pair of restraints and secured the woman's hands in place behind her back.

"Good work, Artemis."

Lucy looked up and met Steve's eyes. Despite being out of the security lights' range, she could still make out the appreciation in his gaze. She smiled.

"Thanks, Cap."

Suddenly, Natasha's voice came from a short distance behind them. "You're lucky it didn't go off. And that it wasn't a dead-man's switch."

Lucy looked over her shoulder as the redhead strode across the grass. She stopped a few feet from them. She was right, of course. And Lucy probably should have considered that before tackling the woman who had practically had her finger on the trigger. But her reflexes had kicked into gear, and everything had happened too quickly. Then, she realized that Steve had probably thought about the possibility of a dead-man's switch as well, and he had chosen to focus on her accomplishment rather than her oversight. But it was indeed rash, and she would have to be more careful in the future. Like tonight, people's lives would depend on it.

"I know," Lucy replied, getting to her feet and pulling the suspect up with her. "As soon as I saw the detonator, I just reacted. I'll try to do it differently next time." _If I get the chance next time . . ._

Natasha eyed her, but didn't actually look all that annoyed. After a brief glance at Steve, she looked back to Lucy and shook her head slightly, nearly rolling her eyes in mock exasperation. "Kids." Then, she turned and began to lead the way back to the warehouse.

A strong hand was suddenly laid on Lucy's shoulder. She looked up at the captain. The silver star and stripes emblazoned across his chest stood out in the near-darkness. He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze, a small encouraging smile on his lips, before setting off after Natasha, allowing Lucy to handle the suspect on her own.

Lucy smiled at the man's broad back, then forced the woman to walk, keeping a secure hold on her, in case she thought that it would be a good idea to be foolish and try to run.

As they crossed the yard, Lucy replayed the chase in her mind. She may have acted rashly, but no harm had been done, and for all that she knew, if she hadn't reacted when she did, the warehouse could have been reduced to an inferno of rubble, and they would have had a team of dead S.H.I.E.L.D. agents on their hands. But they had accomplished what they had set out to do, and there had been no casualties in the process.

In addition, her head wasn't splitting open with pain, and she hadn't needed to use her gun. Those two things alone were good enough for her. 

* * *

_**Note:**__ Thank you, again, for your patience! Sorry that I'm still so slow. x~x Hopefully the next chapter will finally deal with something that I've been looking forward to for a while, but we'll see how it works out. :) You can, of course, still check the status of each upcoming chapter on my profile. Thank you for reading~ I really appreciate your continued interest. 3 Take care~_


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

Lucy sighed, shut the book and laid it on the coffee table, then sank back into the couch, closing her eyes for a few moments. Her brain was exhausted after hours of studying, and although it was technically a good thing to have the Russian words and phrases jostling around in her mind, she felt like she needed to clear it for a while.

She pushed herself off of the couch and went to her media shelves, taking a seat on the floor in front of her few rows of CDs. She browsed through them, pulling out one every so often before pushing it back into place. It was one of those frustrating instances where she wasn't sure what she was in the mood for. Something relaxing, comforting or distracting. Preferably all three. But nothing was striking her fancy. With a sigh, she gave up, leaning back on her hands, staring blankly at the shelves.

Then, an idea struck her.

She reached for her phone on the coffee table behind her and began to search for nearby music stores. It had already been a few weeks since DC had been made her new home, and she had been entertaining the notion of getting out and doing something different for a while now. She had gradually become more comfortable in the city, and with no steady, day-to-day job, and nothing too serious to occupy her but S.H.I.E.L.D.-assigned homework, she was ready for a change of scenery. And, apparently, some new music. She was sure to find some good classic albums somewhere in the city, and even if she didn't end up buying anything, browsing was always enjoyable. And at least it wasn't studying. She definitely hadn't missed the homework aspect of school.

Bundled in a lightweight sweater and a scarf to ward off the autumn chill, she grabbed a jacket and left her apartment. She was only partway down the stairs when another idea made her stop short. After a moment of consideration, she turned back and climbed up to the third floor.

She approached Steve's apartment door and knocked. It wasn't too long before she heard his footsteps on the other side, then the door opened. He looked slightly taken aback when he saw her.

She smiled. "Hey, I was just about to go check out a music store, and I wondered if you'd want to come with me. If . . . you're not busy."

Steve shook his head and smiled. "I'm not really. I was just watching a movie that Natasha recommended. Very _strongly_. She said that if I didn't watch it, I couldn't function in society."

Lucy raised her eyebrows. "What movie?"

"The Matrix."

"Really?" Lucy cracked an amused grin. "Well, it _is_ a good one. Is that what you've been doing since we came here? Catching up on movies?"

"Mostly," Steve replied, and Lucy caught the implication. He, of course, was in the process of learning at least one new language himself.

"Well, I don't want to interrupt the excitement," Lucy began, but Steve stopped her before she could attempt to leave.

"No, don't worry about it. It'll still be here when we get back." He stepped aside, motioning for her to enter the apartment. "Come in, I'll just get my jacket."

Lucy entered, closing the door behind her as Steve moved into an adjacent room. Strangely enough, it was the first time that she had been inside his place. Though she couldn't see much of it from the entryway, it seemed considerably like her own. Yet it felt different. This was a _man's_ apartment. She had never entered a single man's house before. But it was Steve's, so any potential discomfort or awkwardness was nonexistent. On the contrary, she rather liked the idea of staying awhile; maybe watching the rest of that movie . . . but she would never impose herself upon him, or anyone, for that matter. She had never been too bold in that way. Probably one of the reasons why she had never had a boyfriend—

"Alright, let's go."

Lucy snapped out of her thoughts as Steve reappeared, and with a smile she led the way out of the apartment and down the stairs.

The sun was out in full force, and the chill in the air was refreshing. As she walked alongside her friend, Lucy began to feel somewhat . . . normal. Mundane activities such as walking down a city block and a shopping excursion often seemed so far out of reach now, it was a relief to rediscover those simple pleasures amid the covert missions and her almost-constant preparation for future assignments. Russian wasn't the easiest of languages, and her brain was thankful for the reprieve.

The shop was a little hole-in-the-wall place from the outside, but as soon as Lucy and Steve stepped through the door, it appeared as though the owner intended to compete with any large music store. The shelves and walls were absolutely packed, but everything was clearly well organized and appealing to the eye. Immediately Lucy knew that she would be able to find something special here.

Her eyes scanned the racks, searching for the desired section. The albums—in the form of both modern CDs and classic vinyl—were so pleasantly displayed that, much like in a good bookstore, she found herself wanting to buy things that she normally wouldn't, just for the visual appeal. But she stayed on track, and soon located the jazz section.

It was a feast for the eyes, and she almost didn't know where to begin as she walked down the aisle. Steve followed a couple of steps behind, seeming just as interested in the rows upon rows of albums. Lucy stopped in front of one rack and began to flip through an assortment of records, despite not having a record player. She wondered if Steve had one . . . she should probably check . . .

"Do you listen to records?" she asked casually, glancing at the man beside her. He was currently turning over an Ella Fitzgerald album in his hands. It looked to be in good condition.

He slipped it back into place between the other records as he replied. "I do. I don't have many, though."

With this information, Lucy began to browse more intently, waiting for something to catch her eye amongst the plethora of titles. She recalled their many conversations regarding music, and his reactions to various artists and tracks that she had played. Maybe they had some good Sinatra . . .

Suddenly she noticed that Steve had gone quiet and still. She glanced up at him. He was staring down at a record in his hands. His eyes seemed distant. She leaned a bit closer to take a peek at the cover.

_Harry James & His Orchestra: "It's Been A Long, Long Time"_

She had never heard of this one. She looked up into Steve's face. There was something in his contemplative expression. Something that made her chest ache. What did this song mean to him? She wanted to ask—but somehow felt that she shouldn't.

A second later, Steve noticed her gaze and tucked the record back into the jumble. Lucy didn't stop herself from asking her next question: "You're not going to get it?"

He looked hesitant for a moment, as if he wanted to say "No," but wasn't actually certain.

With barely another thought, Lucy spoke again. "Then, it can be my treat."

Steve looked at her, furrowing his brows in confusion. "What?"

"I'll get it for you. It can be a belated birthday present, since . . . I missed your birthday." She smiled, trying not to think about where she had been during the last two summer months.

Steve gave her a kind smile, but there was something more behind his eyes. "Don't worry about that. You don't have to get me anything."

"No, really, I want to," she insisted, smiling back and reaching for the record. But she paused. "Do you . . . want this one? Or do you want to pick something else?"

Steve shook his head. "Nah, this is fine." His eyes seemed to soften as he gazed down at her. "Thanks."

As she pulled the album back out of the rack, Steve said, "Speaking of birthdays, I don't think I ever found out yours. I didn't miss it, did I?"

"Mine? Oh, it's November twenty-second." She felt a little embarrassed for some reason, and almost told him that he didn't need to get her anything, but she realized that if he were to tell her the same thing, she would be disappointed, and would likely buy him a gift anyway. So she left it at that, and began to move farther down the aisle, browsing as she went.

Twenty minutes later, the pair left the shop with two bags. Lucy had found herself a new Glenn Miller CD, and Steve had purchased a Frank Sinatra album, which Lucy had offered to pay for as well, but he had insisted that the Harry James was plenty.

The sunshine was uplifting, and by the time they returned home, Lucy was feeling significantly better. Still, the thought of tackling her studies wasn't too welcome just yet. Maybe she should have broached the subject of going out for lunch . . .

"If you'd like," Steve began as they climbed the stairs to the second floor, "you're welcome to join me for the rest of the movie."

Lucy didn't even take time to consider the offer. "Sounds like just what I need right now." She gladly bypassed her landing and followed Steve up to his apartment.

Soon, the two were seated comfortably on the cream-colored sofa, watching Neo and Smith go at it in an always-impressive display of visual-effects prowess. It had been years since Lucy had seen the movie, so many of the scenes were practically a new experience for her. She caught herself glancing at Steve periodically, wondering what he thought of modern moviemaking. This was probably not his introduction to contemporary visual effects, but if they were still impressive to her, someone who was exposed to them all the time, how much more amazing must they be to someone who was used to black-and-white movies? As she realized that she would finally get a chance to talk to him about the subject, her mind began to create a list of movies to recommend—and she would have to find out what he's seen so far . . .

Eventually the movie came to an end, and Steve seemed to have enjoyed it.

They discussed various aspects of the story and visual effects, which led them down the rabbit hole of early film and the industry's progress. Lucy soaked in every word as Steve shared his experiences of the entertainment of the past, and when she mentioned her favorite movies from the thirties and forties, it was an understatement to say that she was pleased to hear that he had seen some of them. She didn't know many people who shared her eclectic taste in film. Especially when it came to movies from the early half of the twentieth century.

"The Marx Brothers are the best, but not many people know about them," Lucy was saying. "The ones I heard about in pop culture growing up were The Three Stooges. I never even watched them."

"You can't really go wrong with Groucho, Chico and Harpo," Steve concurred with a cockeyed grin.

Lucy laughed. "I was always partial to Harpo, but really, it's hard to beat Groucho's witty banter."

As they talked, Lucy realized that she had taken for granted his era of origin. Naturally, when it came to certain movies, he hadn't had the chance to see them, because of the war. She started to make mental plans for movie nights. She couldn't let him go without seeing Arsenic and Old Lace, Gaslight and Shadow of a Doubt for much longer, and if he was open to musicals, Meet Me in St. Louis was a must.

She tried to rein in her eagerness at the thought. It had been ages since she had had a friend to have movie nights with, and even before Lena had moved to Germany, she hadn't entirely shared Lucy's tastes.

"So, how's the Russian coming?" Steve asked, and Lucy refocused her thoughts upon the sudden change of topic.

"Not as easily as I'd hoped," she replied, "but it's coming. As long as I won't be expected to use it in the field in the immediate future, I should be fine. How's the French?"

Steve raised an eyebrow in consideration. "About the same."

Lucy half smiled, half grimaced. "You think there's a super-soldier serum for our brains?"

Steve cocked his head and returned the grimace. "I wouldn't be surprised. Don't go asking around."

She exhaled a slight laugh. "Don't worry. I'm in no hurry to go back to being a guinea pig in the name of self-improvement."

Steve wholeheartedly agreed. 

* * *

Lucy kept up a steady pace as the brisk November-morning air cut into her lungs. She rounded the far end of the Reflection Pool for the third time, and finally jogged to a stop, back where she had begun. She tried to catch her breath as she made her way to the nearest tree and bent down to retrieve her water bottle. After draining more than half of its contents in one go, she unzipped her jacket pocket and pulled out her phone to check the time. Seven thirty-four. However, her eyes almost immediately drifted to a notification just below. She had a message from Natasha. She opened it quickly.

_'Fury's office, ASAP.'_

Without a second thought, she pocketed her phone, then grabbed her bag, slipping the water bottle back inside, and hurried off.

When she arrived at the apartment building, she saw that Steve's motorcycle was still parked outside, meaning that he hadn't left yet. She rushed up the stairs to her apartment, pulling out her phone again as she went, and sent a text to Steve: _'Out front in five.'_

Regrettably, she wouldn't have time to shower, though she figured that Fury and Natasha wouldn't mind, and she knew that Steve wouldn't. She tossed her phone and her bag onto the bed before digging out a change of clothes from her dresser. It was fortunate that her hair was still short, so she didn't have to pay it any special attention before once again grabbing her phone and keys and heading out. She threw on a jacket on her way down the stairs.

Steve was waiting beside his motorcycle. As she approached, he gave her his signature crooked half-grin. "Took you long enough."

"I think I'm getting faster, actually," Lucy replied with a playful smirk, referencing her morning runs, as she and Steve mounted the bike.

"That so?" the captain humored her as he started the engine, and she wrapped her arms around his waist. "Challenge excepted." She could sense his smile as they pulled away from the curb and took off down the street. 

* * *

They entered Fury's office to find him and Natasha standing in front of his desk, scrutinizing the wall-sized display behind the seating area. As Lucy and Steve joined them, Lucy found herself looking at a map.

"What did you find?" Steve asked, his authoritative tone in place as he folded his arms over his chest and took in the information on the screen before him. The map was zeroed in on . . .

"We've tracked the smugglers' activity to a route that frequents the North Atlantic," Natasha informed them. "Our best guess is that they have a base of operations somewhere in Iceland."

Lucy's eyes scanned the coastline of the island on the glowing blue display. "When do we leave?"

"Now," Fury said, turning and striding back to his desk. "The team's waiting for you."

Lucy glanced at Steve, and he at her, as they simultaneously headed for the door, Natasha close behind. 

* * *

Lucy had always wanted to go to Iceland someday. But under different circumstances, when she could enjoy the landscape and perhaps just a slight chill in the air, or even no chill at all. Not this bitterly cold temperature and a flatland with no obstacles to break up the buffeting wind as clouds hung darkly overhead. The insulated suit was helping to keep her warm enough, as was her adrenaline, but the air bit at her exposed face as the team crossed the terrain in an organized and efficient manner. The last time that they had dealt with this band of smugglers—which, as it turned out, was a much larger group than they had previously known—the landscape had been completely different. The last time that Lucy had felt this exposed was when she had run through the streets of New York, avoiding Chitauri attacks, then placed herself in the line of fire in the middle of the street with an alien weapon clutched in her hands. She longed for nightfall or the cover of trees. But she kept her eyes on the surrounding area, and there were no signs of any armed guards. Yet.

The fishing town seemed quiet. The team stealthily skirted the outlying buildings, guns poised for sudden confrontation.

Steve stopped at the corner of a weather-worn garage, and motioned for the rest of the team to do the same. He peered around back, across the next road, toward the moderately sized target warehouse. Lucy wished that she could see what he saw, but she waited patiently for his verdict. When he looked back to the agents, he held up three fingers. Three guards. Lucy nodded, tightening her grip on her gun just slightly.

Rumlow and the rest of the team doubled back and circled around the garage, in order to ambush the targets from more than one angle, while Steve, Lucy and Natasha held their current position.

At least for a few seconds.

Lucy heard movement behind her, and when she looked over her shoulder, she saw Natasha disappear behind the next building. She turned back to Steve and crept closer to him and the corner of the garage, trying to get a glimpse of the targets' positions. The men were stationed in sloppy intervals near the door of their building. They were all facing outward, so sneaking up behind them wouldn't be an option. One of them shifted his weight, and Lucy just managed to pull back out of sight as he started to look in her direction.

"How do you want to do this, Cap?" Rumlow's voice came through their comms.

Steve replied almost immediately, keeping his voice low and hushed. "I'll rush them, block any fire. The rest of you keep on my flank. There might be more waiting just behind those doors, so be ready; there's no way to keep this quiet."

Suddenly, movement caught Lucy's eye at the edge of her peripheral vision. She looked up to the roof of a smaller building to the left of the warehouse. Natasha's red hair stood out like a beacon against the stark grey of the overcast sky as she crouched near the edge of the roof. Luckily, the men below were oblivious. Lucy tapped Steve's arm with the back of her hand and pointed to Black Widow's current position. Then, her voice came over the comms, low and subdued: "I can take the two closest to me. The third one's up for grabs."

Lucy looked at Steve quizzically. He only seemed to mull this change of plan over for a moment before giving her the okay, a slight smirk on his lips. "Suit yourself. Everyone else, follow my lead."

Lucy's muscles tensed in anticipation as she kept her eyes on Natasha.

The redhead snuck toward the edge of the roof, swung herself over, and dropped silently to the ground, a few meters behind the nearest guard. Lucy felt Steve shift beside her, and just as Natasha was reaching for her first target, the captain raced out from behind the garage, straight toward the armed men. Lucy followed right on his heels as gunfire filled the previously quiet town, the bullets deflecting off of the vibranium shield.

The brief cacophony ceased as Steve disarmed the third guard, and while Lucy moved toward the warehouse door, gun raised, she noticed that Natasha had successfully taken care of her two opponents. She heard multiple footfalls approaching as Rumlow and the rest of the team joined them.

"Could've saved some for the rest of us," Rumlow joked, but another set of footsteps reached Lucy's ears. She stopped, eyes on the door, and quickly moved back, her adrenaline spiking.

"There's plenty more for you," she said, though her comment didn't seem all that funny to her as the door burst open and more armed men poured out, ready for the confrontation that awaited them.

In the time that it took the first man to take in the sight of the people before him, Lucy could have pulled the trigger and taken him out easily, but she just couldn't bring herself to do it, and her window of time to grab and subdue him was over before it had even crossed her mind as the rest of the men surrounded him, guns all raised. There were nearly a dozen.

A strong hand grabbed Lucy's arm, and she found herself doubled over behind the captain as a hail of bullets pounded against his shield. STRIKE returned fire, and the smugglers started dropping. Lucy heard a few agents go down as well, and she hoped that their body armor had caught the worst of it. Determined to not be useless, she peered out from behind Steve, squinting against the piercing din of metal on metal, and took aim at the nearest smuggler. Sparks sprayed into her line of sight as the shield continued to block the onslaught, but she managed to keep her aim steady.

She took a deep breath.

And fired.

The man stumbled backwards and fell, and she knew that she had hit him somewhere in his midsection. _Hopefully nowhere fatal,_ she thought, remembering the bloody and traumatic aftermath of her battle in the cargo hold of the ship. She took aim at the next man, and soon he had joined his friend on the ground.

The racket of gunfire lessened, then finally ceased. Steve lowered his shield and straightened. At his side, Lucy observed their handiwork. Most of the men were no longer breathing, but a few groaned, and some appeared to be unconscious, with mere flesh wounds and not enough blood surrounding them to indicate that they had bled out.

Lucy approached the first man that she had shot. He was holding his side, and she grimaced internally, but tried not to think about it. Instead, she zeroed in on his gun and kicked it out of his reach. She saw Steve doing the same to one of the other men as some of the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents joined them. Lucy turned to Rumlow, glad to see that he was unharmed, then looked behind him. Three agents lay in the road. Her stomach sank, and fear gripped her, until she saw that all of them were moving.

Rumlow noticed her line of sight. "The body armor did its job," he assured her. "They'll shake it off in no time."

"That seems lucky."

He shrugged a shoulder. "You'd be surprised how many people don't take the head shot."

"Anyone want to join me?" Natasha's clear tone rang out suddenly, drawing Lucy's attention to where she stood, by the door through which the armed men had come.

Steve was right behind her as she opened the door and hurried into the darkened interior of the warehouse, and Lucy was next to follow. Rumlow and the STRIKE agents who weren't still recovering brought up the rear.

Lucy expected to be met with more gunfire, but no other adversaries intercepted them. She somehow found it hard to believe that these people would have been so careless as to send every one of their men outside to face them. She kept her eyes and ears open for any signs of movement as the team made their way down a narrow hallway in semi-darkness, barely making a sound. As the tense seconds wore on, Lucy steeled her nerves. The pistol in her hands reminded her that anything could happen at any moment, and she may no longer have the luxury of sparing the men's lives. She had trained in scenarios like this in the woods outside of the S.H.I.E.L.D. facility, and she knew that when it came down to it, her reaction to an immediate threat would likely be instinctual, visceral and swift. No time for thought. Her gun would move, and she would have to accept the results.

Deep breath.

She was ready.

She cast her vigilant gaze around the main room as it expanded before them. Again she started to feel exposed, but the solid presence of the captain beside her was reassuring.

Though their footsteps were quiet, they seemed much too loud in the cavernous space. Lucy strained her ears to pick up anything beyond the subtle movements of her team. Why was it so quiet? A pit of unease formed in her stomach. Something wasn't right, and she knew that Steve, Natasha and the others had to know it, too.

_Click._

The tiny sound shot through her like an electric pulse.

She reacted in the same instant as Steve, pivoting to point her weapon at the catwalk on the right-hand side of the room. It was too dark to see properly, but Lucy could make out a shadowy form, pressed down against the metal walkway, before a gunshot rang out. The bullet hit the wall behind Steve and Natasha, and Lucy pulled her trigger without hesitation. She saw the sparks as her round ricocheted off of the railing above, but kept trying, some of the team joining in as they fanned out around the perimeter of the room.

Suddenly, the shadow receded, and Lucy's senses were wide open as she scanned the area for the appearance of another. Where were they? How many were there? Her heart pounded, but she forced herself to remain calm. Her eyes briefly sought out the locations of her teammates, who were methodically making their way around the room, checking any doorway and obstacle that they came to. She crossed to the other side of the room and pressed herself to the wall beneath the catwalk. She checked left, then right, then made for a stack of crates, gun raised. When she found no one there, she almost felt relieved, but she couldn't allow herself a moment of ease.

Despite the heightened activity in the room, the noise was still minimal. Lucy wondered if the remaining smugglers were as skilled at stealth as the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. She couldn't imagine that they were, but they certainly knew how to use this warehouse to their advantage.

Suddenly, gunfire rang out again, followed by brief shouting from Rumlow. Lucy took cover behind a nearby support pillar and scanned the room for the enemy's location. The other agents were directing their fire upward, out of her line of sight.

Before she could formulate a course of action, movement caught the corner of her eye. Instantly, memories of her last mission—her pursuit of the terrorist down the hallway and out the back of the other warehouse—flashed through her mind, and her eyes darted to her right, staring into the shadows, beyond a stack of large metal canisters.

Her focus was so intense that she barely registered the sound of the captain and his shield dealing out blows to at least one smuggler somewhere overhead as the racket of gunfire continued from another source. Then, the shadows shifted again, and a silhouette became clear.

The man clearly hadn't seen her yet, so she made her move without hesitation. She stepped quickly behind the canisters, sliding her gun back into place on her thigh, and in two seconds she had her arms around the man's neck. She hauled him backwards, successfully throwing him off balance, and twisted around, bringing him to the concrete floor before he had the chance to get his wits about him. He struggled, and she tried to focus her weight into a central point in his back, using all she had against his larger frame.

She was still in the process of attempting to render him unconscious when she saw another silhouette emerge from a doorway ahead of her. She could make out a rifle gripped in both of his hands as he darted behind a stack of crates. Lucy's wide eyes went to her team. Everyone was still occupied with the other targets. No one was looking in this direction. The man had a clear shot of almost everyone.

Moving as if by instinct, Lucy slammed her captive's head into the concrete—once, twice—until she was sure that he was unconscious but not dead, then launched herself to her feet. She nearly drew her gun and fired at the crates, even just to distract the man with the rifle, but for all that she knew, the crates could be filled with explosives. So instead, she ran to his hidden vantage point as quickly as she could, praying that he wouldn't manage to take out any of her team before she got there.

She wheeled around the side of the stack, and, without hesitation, aimed a strong kick at his lower back, disrupting his aim. He toppled into the crates in front of him, causing a couple to crash to the floor, and Lucy felt a wave of relief that she had stopped him before he'd pulled the trigger. But the relief was short-lived, for the battle was far from over. The man whipped around, scrambling to right himself, looking for the source of the disruption. She came at him again, before he could fully get his bearings, and grabbed the muzzle of the gun, directing it away from herself as she leaned into him, shoving him backwards and into the crates once more.

The man tried to throw her off as she tried to wrest the gun from his hands, but her Artemis enhancements had given her increased speed and agility. She was still lacking in the super-strength department. She was no Captain America. The man swung her into the crates, jarring her, but she managed to hold on to him, determined to avoid giving him an opening to shoot her. The thin body armor in her suit might prevent a bullet from penetrating, but she could only imagine how painful it would be—and that was only if the man didn't take the head shot.

She began to strike at the man's ribs with her knee, applying constant leverage to the gun, but he held on, growling in frustration amid grunts of pain. He tried to throw her off again, but she spun around, her back to his chest, and dropped to the floor, entangling her legs with his. He fell, and the gun went off. Lucy winced at the unexpected deafening noise as the rounds ricocheted off of the nearest wall, acutely aware that if she weren't careful, she could be taking the next rounds in the leg or the stomach. She pinned his dominant right arm down, slamming it and the rifle into the floor repeatedly, while keeping her legs locked with his.

Then, his left fist collided with her ribs, then her shoulder, and she put up her left arm to block the next blow as it came at her head. She took the opportunity to change positions, and rolled over and went for his neck. In seconds, she had him in a choke hold. Bullets sprayed again, with a burst of muzzle flashes, and she squeezed her eyes shut against the noise, praying that none of the rogue bullets would hit any of her teammates. Finally, the racket ceased, and the man went limp, but she held on for another couple of seconds before she deemed it safe to release him. Her muscles slackened, and she rolled the man off of herself, feeling winded.

As she got to her feet, she could tell that she would soon be feeling the effects of the struggle. It had been too long since she had grappled with anyone. Then, she realized that the surrounding gunfire had stopped. She looked past the crates that were still standing, and saw a few black-clad S.H.I.E.L.D. agents appearing to take stock of the aftermath. Before she could count them, her eyes landed on Steve. He looked alright, and she allowed the relief to come and stay this time. He cast his gaze around the room, and it settled on her. She could see the concern in his eyes, even in the shadows. She nodded and gave him a reassuring smile, hoping that she didn't look to terrible after the prolonged one-on-one. He came to meet her as she stepped around the crates.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"Yeah. You?"

"I'm fine." He glanced back over his shoulder. "I don't think we took any casualties."

"That's good."

"Hey, Cap!" Rumlow called from across the room. He was crouched beside one of the fallen smugglers.

Steve turned to make his way over to him, and Lucy began to follow, but something stopped her in her tracks: a sound somewhere off to her right. Something cold and visceral gripped her stomach. She whipped around just in time to see one of the men lying on the ground raise his arm, pistol in hand.

Aimed directly at the captain.

"Steve!" she cried, and threw herself forward, closing the few feet between them, just as the gunshot rang out.

Pain exploded in her right shoulder, and she was on the floor.

"Lucy!"

A second shot went off, and her eyes searched for Steve in a panic, but he was crouched over her, his hand on her arm, seeming completely unconcerned about the shooter. Lucy groaned through clenched teeth as her shoulder ached, stung and throbbed with agony, and wondered if the bullet had penetrated her suit after all. She squinted up through the pain at the blonde man, and suddenly she was back on that New York City street, surrounded by rubble and the sounds of alien ships in the distance. He had been there then, and he was here now. Only, this time, he wasn't rushing off to fight. This time, he stayed by her side.

However, despite the fact that he wore his mask this time, he looked more worried than before.

"I'm okay . . ." she managed, though it had sounded more reassuring in her head. "I'm fine . . ." She couldn't stifle the strangled moan that followed.

Another figure appeared above her.

Natasha crouched down inspected Lucy's shoulder, careful to avoid touching it.

"It doesn't look like it penetrated," she said. "Probably just some nasty bruising. You're lucky it didn't hit your collar bone. Or your spine."

Lucy didn't want to think about any of the more severe kinds of pain that she could be experiencing. Instead, she inhaled slowly and deeply, closing her eyes, and willed the agony to subside.

Whether it was because of her will or not, the pain did lessen enough for her to get to her feet with Steve's help. She blinked back tears, which she hadn't known were there, and faced the other members of STRIKE, who had gathered nearby and, presumably, observed the entire incident. She straightened as much as she could, wincing only slightly, and looked over at the man who had shot at Steve. He was no longer moving.

"Good eye," Natasha said, giving Lucy a small smile. "What would the captain have done without that reaction time of yours, Artemis?"

Lucy gave a half smile back, accepting the playful compliment, though she suspected that Steve probably would have been alright. He had been in far more battles without her and always come out fine, and she doubted that he had never been injured before. But maybe this time would have been different. Either way, she was glad that she wouldn't have to find out whether or not her split-second reaction had been necessary. The pain was worth the knowledge that he was safe.

But she really hoped that the team had taken care of any other potential threats, because she did not think that she would be up to using herself as a shield again just yet.

Steve kept a hand on her back as they and Natasha made their way over to where Rumlow stood. He crouched down again, beside the man whom he had been looking at when he had called Steve over.

"This is him," he said, and the others took a closer look at the man's face. Lucy could see immediately that he was a match to the photo that they had been shown in the Quinjet: Isak Markov, the suspected leader of the smuggling operation. She felt a layer of tension leave her body.

"Looks like we're done here," Natasha announced matter-of-factly.

Rumlow and a few of the STRIKE agents stayed behind to make a record of the scene, while Steve escorted Lucy from the building, led by Natasha. The fresh, cold air bit at Lucy's exposed skin, but this time it felt good, and she could almost feel it reaching through the thermal layer in her suit and numbing the pain in her shoulder. She tried not to lean into Steve as they made their way out of the small town, but the walk seemed rather daunting, though it wasn't terribly long.

When they finally arrived back at the jet and ascended the ramp, Lucy's face was numb from the wind's chill, and her shoulder was still throbbing relentlessly. She nearly collapsed into one of the seats, withholding a groan, and Steve took the one on her left, simultaneously removing his mask and propping his shield against the wall.

Less than a minute later, Natasha stood in front of Lucy with a syringe-like device. "This will help."

Lucy said nothing, and merely tried not to wince as Natasha placed the device to her shoulder and injected her with pain killer.

"Thanks . . ." she muttered, wondering how long it would be until it took effect.

Not long, as it turned out.

Soon, the rest of the team was on board, and Natasha was commencing liftoff. Lucy closed her eyes as the engine hummed all around her, feeling the sturdy warmth of Steve's shoulder against her uninjured one. The pain was a mild, dull throb now. She wondered whether it was the painkiller that was making her drowsy, or if it had just been a long day.

She decided that it didn't matter, and soon gave in to peaceful, numbing sleep. 

* * *

_**Note**__**:**__ At long last! These past few months have been rough. Starting in early April, I was dealing with some personal stuff that made it really hard for me to concentrate on this (though I still worked on it every day). I finally bombed out the last third of the chapter yesterday, and I'm already working on Chapter 20, which I'm so excited for. :DD_

_It's been over a year since I started writing this story (which feels kind of amazing), and ideally, I would love to get Chapter 20 posted by July 4th, which will be the one-year anniversary of its publication. If all goes as planned, Chapter 20 should be a kind of milestone, so it seems an appropriate date. :)_

_Thank you so, so much for your continued interest in this story, and thank you to all of my new readers! 3_

_P.S. Something that's helped me out a lot, and just been a really nice change of pace, is that I've gotten back into reading books. (OverDrive/Libby and Hoopla for the win~) If anyone would like to be friends on GoodReads, message me and I'll send you my profile. :) 3_


	20. Chapter 20

_**Note:** 1 of 2 chapters posted on July 4th, 2020_

* * *

**Chapter 20**

Lucy awoke to her alarm at her usual time. The dawn light was not quite visible around the edges of her bedroom curtains, but she was suddenly wide awake. She reached for her phone and found a message from Lena waiting for her.

_'Happy birthday, birthday girl! I miss you! Is there any way you can fly over for a day trip? lol If not, we're partying extra hard next time I see you! P.S. Happy Thanksgiving! I miss it. A serious downside to living abroad. T_T'_

Lucy laughed softly and replied.

_'Thank you! I miss you, too. And I wish I could, but duty calls.'_ She paused. She meant it as a figure of speech, but secretly hoped that Lena would be able to discern something more from it. If only her friend knew how truthful the statement was. _'Can't wait to see you again,'_ she continued. _'It's been too long. I'll call you later! And I'll hold you to that rain check! P.S. I miss it, too. Too busy with work to go home. T_T'_

Her smile was somewhat bittersweet as she hit send and tossed her phone onto the bed, then pulled a fresh set of workout clothes from her dresser. It wasn't often that her birthday and Thanksgiving fell on the same day, and it was tough to imagine what she might be missing out on at home, but she also felt sorry for her parents, not having her there for the first time, and hoped that there would be a nice get-together with some of their other family.

When she emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later, she checked her phone again, smiling excitedly as the screen lit up with another message, this time from Steve.

_'Happy birthday.'_

The two simple words made her grin widen.

_'Thanks, Cap,'_ she sent back.

Moments later, he replied. _'Birthday run?'_

_'Yes, Sir. Are you going to join me?'_

_'I would be honored.'_ She almost felt a blush color her face at his choice of words. _'But I won't be going easy on you.'_

She smirked.

_'Of course not. I'll be down in a few minutes.'_

After a quick drink of water and a few bites of a granola bar, Lucy hurried down to street level, feeling exceptionally invigorated.

Had she not already been wide awake, the brisk late-November weather would have perked her right up. She was glad that her hair now covered her ears, giving her at least a small amount of extra warmth. For now, she refused to wear a hat; she found them stifling. The exercise would raise her body temperature just fine, and she would just end up taking the hat off anyway.

As usual, Steve was waiting when she reached the sidewalk. It had been a few days since they had been able to run together, and the sight of him in his navy-blue hoodie and black sweatpants put a bright smile on her face. They set off at a brisk jog.

Lucy was nicely warmed up by the time they reached the park, but she was far from tired. Her stamina had increased significantly over the weeks, and as soon as she laid eyes on the Reflection Pool, she felt the surge of excitement to run. Without a word, she picked up her pace, and Steve was quick to follow suit. Despite her increased speed and endurance, and her ability to give the captain a run for his money, she still wasn't his equal. He always made the sprinting look so effortless, but she always felt the effects once they came to a halt. Perhaps it had something to do with his serum, or maybe it was just the difference in their genes, but truthfully, even though she would like to be even more like him, she enjoyed having someone to look up to—someone who was better than her. Natasha had honed impressive skills, without the help of a super-soldier program, which Lucy was still unable to match, but having a role model like Steve Rogers was beyond compare.

They came to a stop in the grass beneath a tree after three laps around the pool, and Steve cocked a grin at Lucy as they caught their breath. He was standing tall, chest heaving, while she allowed herself to bend over for a few seconds, hands on her knees, the cold, pre-winter air biting into her lungs. She had been so eager to leave the apartment that she had forgotten to bring water. She didn't always take a bottle with her, but she was slightly regretting it today.

Steve never brought any, and he always seemed fine. _Leave it to the captain,_ Lucy thought, returning his smile as she straightened up.

After a few more seconds, he cocked his head toward the pool, raised an eyebrow, and, without a word, started to jog slowly, casually back to their circuit—backwards. The challenging glint in his eye egged Lucy on. "Oh, really?" she grinned, and started to follow him at a normal jog, then broke into a sprint, forcing him to turn around to keep up as she passed him.

Ten minutes and many laps later, the pair came to a halt once more. Lucy glanced up at Steve as she caught her breath. This time, he looked almost as exhausted as she felt. His neatly trimmed hair was slightly disheveled, reminding her of that day in New York, when she had seen him without his mask after he had been thrown through the window and landed on the parked car. It was at times like this that the reality of how drastically her life had changed hit her all over again. She had grown so accustomed to things since settling in DC that it was somewhat hard to believe that just over six months ago she had been unaware of the existence of S.H.I.E.L.D. or the threats that they prevented. And she had not even met Steve Rogers, a man whom she never would have imagined being able to call a friend. She couldn't fathom going back to that old life.

"That's the longest we've gone in a while," Steve said as soon as he had caught his breath enough to speak.

Lucy half-smiled, straightening up. "Was it too much for you, old man?"

Steve gave her a look, but was smiling nonetheless. Then he said, "It's still early. How about some practice? If you don't mind getting knocked down by an old man on your birthday."

Lucy raised her eyebrows in mock surprise. "The old man sounds awfully sure of himself."

He glanced off into the distance, his expression full of false consideration for her words. "I've had some experience."

Grinning, they set off for home at a brisk walk. The sunrise cast long shadows across the streets, providing a meager touch of warmth to the chilly morning. Despite the cold, Lucy's body temperature remained at a comfortable level the entire way back.

Once they had reached their building, Lucy invited Steve over for a small bite to eat. Sparring on a full stomach was out of the question, but doing so on a practically empty one was just asking for lapses in performance. A little food would do them both good, and Steve agreed and followed her to her apartment.

She offered him some water, and took a long drink of a glass of her own before whipping up some scrambled eggs.

As she plated up two helpings of eggs and one slice of toast for each of them, she recalled elaborate birthday breakfasts that her family used to make for each other: pancakes or waffles with eggs, sausage, bacon, and sometimes fruit salad. She had always looked forward to such things, but somehow, sitting down to these plain scrambled eggs and her piece of buttered toast felt just as satisfying.

Maybe it was the company. 

* * *

Lucy's feet left the floor, and less than a second later, her shoulder collided with the mat. Again. Steve held her down until she conceded begrudgingly, though she was unable to prevent herself from cracking a grin. He stood up, raising a self-satisfied eyebrow at her as she turned onto her back, catching her breath.

"You know I was kidding about the 'old man' thing," Lucy clarified with a smirk as she sat up.

Steve's eyes twinkled. "What? Too tough to admit that you can't beat one? What was that, four times?"

"Three," Lucy corrected, knowing full well that he was aware how many times he had just taken her to the mat.

He offered her his hand, and she took it.

As he pulled her to her feet, a familiar voice interrupted them. "How about you let her get picked on by someone who's more her size?"

Lucy and Steve turned to see Natasha striding toward them. She wore a black tank top, tight black pants, and no shoes.

"Fury wants to see you, Rogers," the redhead stated as she reached the mat.

Looking a little surprised, Steve glanced at Lucy before going to retrieve his jacket from the floor.

"It might take you a while," Natasha added, "so I'll go a few rounds with the newbie and then give her a ride back for you."

"Newbie?" Lucy repeated with an incredulous smirk, though Natasha's teasing didn't bother her a bit. It made her feel like she was a close member of the team.

Natasha stepped onto the mat and circled around Lucy, her strides graceful yet strong. But Lucy's attention was split, and a second later, she caught herself staring after the captain as he headed for the door. She hoped that whatever Fury wanted wouldn't take too long.

Suddenly, the woman's voice brought Lucy back to Earth. "Come on, let me see how out of practice you've gotten after all those hours of bookwork."

Lucy turned her full attention to her new opponent, who stood at the opposite side of the mat. Natasha began to pace slowly, as if waiting for Lucy to make a move. Lucy wasn't going to fall for it. Natasha could be more cunning than Steve in her fighting style. Carefully shifting back and forth on the balls of her feet, Lucy prepared herself to either counter or evade in a split second.

The split second came, and within a few more, Lucy found herself hitting the mat. Again. Maybe she really was too out of practice. Natasha probably didn't take many days off from combat training—if any at all. Lucy wondered if Steve had been secretly training with Natasha without her, and wished that she had made use of the Triskelion's facilities more than just a few times in the last two weeks.

"Rustier than I thought," Natasha chided, straightening up and going back to her side of the mat while Lucy righted herself. "You can do better than that."

At this point, Lucy wasn't so sure.

_No,_ she corrected herself. _I can._

She inhaled slowly, gathering her confidence, refocusing to harness the skills that she had developed at the training facility.

_I will._

* * *

One hour and one thorough workout later, the two women entered the Triskelion's garage. The quick shower had been refreshing, but Lucy was feeling the effects of the morning of exercise. Her body was tired, but in an almost relaxed kind of way, like the thorough, satisfying fatigue after a good swim. She was somewhat glad to be riding in Natasha's slick black car rather than on the back of Steve's motorcycle. Almost.

As they made their way to the car, Lucy's eyes automatically went to the bike—and were met with an empty space. Her brows furrowed in confusion. Had he gone home already? The thought gave her a bit of relief. If Fury had planned on sending Steve on a spontaneous assignment, the motorcycle wouldn't have been needed.

Unless something else had happened. Lucy couldn't presume to understand everything that the director had on his plate. He could very well have needed the captain for something more local. Or perhaps Steve had needed to return to his apartment before heading off on an extended mission.

That thought made Lucy's stomach turn.

She opened the car door and slid into the cool leather of the passenger's seat. Soon, the growl of the engine filled the vast garage, and Natasha drove out into the morning sunshine.

Natasha had the windows down, and Lucy gazed out over the water as the wind whipped at her short hair. The scent of the river mixed with that of the well-kept interior of the car. She already missed the feeling of the open air and leaning into Steve's back as they raced across the bridge on his motorcycle.

As soon as Natasha pulled up in front of the apartment building, Lucy saw the rear wheel of Steve's bike parked in its usual spot. As she opened her door and got out, Natasha did the same. Lucy glanced at her curiously.

"I need to talk to Cap about what Fury wanted," the redhead explained, heading for the front walk. Lucy followed close behind.

At her landing, Lucy parted ways with Natasha, and couldn't help but wish that she were able to go up to the third floor with her. The thought of Steve being sent on an assignment without her—and possibly without Natasha—did not sit well with her. Not that she doubted his abilities. After all, he was much more experienced than she was.

She shook herself mentally as she approached her door. She already had plenty to concern herself with, such as her ongoing studies. Steve's business was Steve's business. She reached into her jacket pocket for her keys—

Empty.

Her blood ran cold. She dug into the pocket more aggressively, then tried the others, until she was certain that none of them held her keys. She rubbed her forehead in frustration and sighed. Had she forgotten to grab them at the last minute before leaving with Steve earlier? It was embarrassing, but she would just have to go upstairs and explain to Steve and Natasha what had happened. Surely they would have a way to get her back into her apartment in no time.

She was about to turn and head back to the stairs when a muffled noise reached her ears.

From inside her apartment.

Her hand went for the doorknob before she could think.

Unlocked.

She threw the door open and barely stopped herself from rushing carelessly into whatever awaited her. _Burglar. Or worse._

Her body tensed as she crept down the short entryway, ears straining to identify the threat, waiting for shattering glass or other signs of looting.

She paused at the door to the living room and gathered herself. The exhaustion in her muscles was practically nonexistent. She was ready to fight. And this time, she would not be bested.

She stepped into the doorway, prepared to launch herself at the intruder or behind the most convenient piece of furniture if the intruder had a gun.

But her heart skipped a beat, the adrenaline quickly receding as she stared in shock at the blonde man standing in front of her couch.

He gave her one of his cockeyed grins.

"Happy birthday."

She almost staggered as her gaze fell to the coffee table. Laid out upon it was a variety of party foods, and in the center stood a small white layer cake decorated with purple and blue flowers.

Emotion welled up inside of her so quickly that she didn't have time to push it down before her eyes began to fill with tears. But she didn't care. She just grinned, not knowing what to say.

Suddenly, she sensed another presence behind her, and she turned to see Natasha standing there with her arms folded, not looking surprised in the least. In that moment, it all clicked.

"Did Fury even ask for him?"

"At least your brain isn't rusty," Natasha teased. "Must be all that studying."

Lucy exhaled a laugh, resisting the urge to roll her eyes, as she and Natasha entered the room. "I can't believe you guys planned this," she remarked, taking in the spread on the table as she rounded the couch, coming to stand beside Steve. "It's amazing." She beamed up at her friend, whose kind gaze betrayed his satisfaction with the success of the plan. "Thank you."

The food was wonderful. "Pseudo-Thanksgiving; mostly birthday," as Natasha had put it. Nothing extraordinarily fancy or Thanksgiving-like, but Lucy couldn't have enjoyed it any more if the chips and dip and pigs in a blanket were traded in for a roasted turkey and cranberry sauce. Soon, the three of them were seated around the coffee table—Lucy and Steve on the couch, and Natasha lounging in the nearest armchair—in the midst of a game of poker.

Lucy popped a small cube of watermelon from the fruit salad into her mouth and laid out three of her cards. Steve dealt her three more from the deck. She tried not to react as she sorted her new hand, taking in the less-than-desirable sight of a pair of tens with a queen high card. She gave Natasha and Steve a look that suggested that she was hiding something interesting.

Steve took three cards as well, then tossed another tortilla chip onto the plate on the corner of the table, which represented the pot.

"Raise, huh?" Natasha said, leaning forward to add her own chip to the pot. "I'll see that and raise you one more."

Lucy tossed in two of her own chips, while Steve threw in a second, and everyone laid out their cards.

"Pair of aces with a king high," Steve announced.

"A pair of tens with a queen," Lucy admitted, reaching for a grape.

"Three of a kind," Natasha said nonchalantly, revealing three red jacks and two other, inconsequential cards. "I'm surprised at you Rogers, I thought you'd be better at this," she remarked in jest as Lucy and Steve passed her their hands for her to shuffle.

"It's been a while," was Steve's only reply.

As Natasha dealt the next hand, a sudden electronic humming sound interrupted the festivities. It came in steady intervals, and Lucy turned, looking to her jacket draped on the couch cushion beside her. She reached for it and dug out her phone, smiling brightly when she saw _Home_ on the display.

"I'll have to take this," she told the others, and answered the call.

She had been looking forward to hearing from her parents all morning. They expressed their love and how sorry they were that they couldn't be with her, but were delighted to hear that her two friends had thrown her a lovely celebration. Her dad was particularly pleased to hear that these friends enjoyed playing poker, as it had been a game of choice at certain family gatherings and many a family game night when Lucy was younger.

Her mom said that they had sent her a present, and that it should be arriving any day now, and after a very charming rendition of _Happy Birthday,_ during which Lucy struggled to keep her tears in check, they ended the call.

Lucy placed her phone on top of her jacket and reached for the cards that Natasha had just dealt her, trying to pull herself together. She hadn't realized just how much she would miss her parents on her birthday.

Then, a large, warm hand gently gripped her knee, and she looked over to see Steve's understanding expression. She gave him a small smile of silent thanks, and they resumed the game.

Steve ended up winning two hands, and Lucy came away with a couple of victories herself, but Natasha did the best, which, somehow, Lucy didn't find to be all that surprising. Following the card game, Natasha stuck three candles into the top of the cake and lit them, and Lucy leaned forward to make her customary wish. She didn't have to think too hard. She wanted to see her parents again soon, and she wanted her friends—and herself—to be kept safe on their assignments. With a single deft puff of air, the tiny flames were extinguished.

Natasha raised her eyebrows as she began to remove the spent candles. "If you punched like you blow out candles, you might stand a chance against this big guy." She tipped her head toward Steve.

Steve gave her a little nudge with his shoulder, and Lucy cracked a smile, shaking her head.

The cake was a light yet flavorful vanilla with creamy frosting. Lucy managed to eat most of her piece before she had to set the plate aside. Now, with a full stomach on top of the thorough workout, her fatigue was beginning to set in once more. She settled back into the welcoming cushions of the sofa, feeling relaxed and content.

Suddenly, Steve got up from his place beside her and made his way into the kitchen. When he returned, he was carrying a package wrapped in festive blue-striped paper. Lucy sat up straight at the sight of the unexpected surprise, while Natasha began to clear a space on the table.

Steve set the present down in front of Lucy, then took his seat once again. She looked from the gift to the man beside her, her chest clenching with renewed emotion. The box was a couple of feet wide and almost a foot deep, and she immediately thought that, whatever it was, it was too much.

Steve merely smiled at her, waiting for her to open it.

So she did.

The paper fell away, and when she opened the box, she froze.

She found herself staring at another box—wooden this time, in a lovely warm brown. It had a lid, and there was a series of decorative slots in the front that could only be speakers.

A record player.

Once the surprise passed, a grin spread across her face. The player was vintage and appeared to be in good condition.

"Steve—" She almost said that he didn't have to get her something like this, but she stopped herself. "I love it. Thank you so much."

Still smiling, Steve got to his feet, and without a word, he picked up the record player and carried it over to Lucy's media shelves, placing it on the very top. Lucy watched questioningly as he bent down and reached behind the shelves, then plugged something into the back of the player. He then retrieved something that had been leaning up against the side of the shelves, just out of Lucy's line of sight. She realized what he was doing as the sound of vinyl leaving its sleeve filled the room. He slipped the disc onto the turntable and carefully moved the needle into place. Lucy perched on the edge of the couch, practically holding her breath.

An upbeat jazz tune came to life through the speakers, and Lucy beamed. She had never heard this piece before, but she instantly loved it. Somehow, it felt familiar, like an old friend.

"I was hoping you'd like it," Steve said, his blue eyes exuding warmth.

"I love it! What's it called?"

"Jersey Bounce," he replied, then added, "Benny Goodman. It was popular in . . . forty-two, as I recall."

Natasha suddenly piped up from the armchair. "You're making yourself sound old again, Rogers."

Steve glanced at her tolerantly, but his expression held a spark of humor. Lucy's grin widened. Unable to help herself, she got to her feet, crossed the room, and threw her arms around Steve's neck. "Thank you so much."

After a brief moment, he returned the embrace, his hands on her back as he bent slightly to compensate for their height difference. Lucy almost felt like she could forget that Natasha was there as her heart reacted strongly to her close proximity to the captain, but she was suddenly painfully aware of the other woman's presence.

Resisting the urge to stay right where she was, she gently pulled away from Steve, her hands slipping from his broad shoulders, and smiled up at him, trying to pretend that she hadn't just been effected the way that she had.

After the music ended, Natasha stood up. "Well, it's been super fun, lady and gent, but I have someplace to be, and _you_—" she nodded at Lucy "—look like you could use some downtime."

Lucy didn't want them—_him_—to leave, but at the same time, she was grateful for Natasha's suggestion. She nodded in agreement and looked between Natasha and Steve. "Thank you again. This was . . . really great."

"It was our pleasure," Steve replied, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze. Then he said, "I'll help you clean up," and moved toward the coffee table.

Lucy almost turned him down, but decided to accepted the help, shamelessly admitting to herself that it was because she wanted to spend more time with Steve, and not because she couldn't take care of the food on her own.

"You kids have fun," Natasha quipped on her way out, and a few seconds later, the door closed behind her. Lucy shook her head, trying to hold back another grin as she gathered up a few bags of chips and her plate and brought them into the kitchen, while Steve followed her with the remnants of the fruit salad and the rest of the plates.

They finished quickly, and Steve pointed out that he had left her keys—which he rather sheepishly admitted to sneaking out of her jacket pocket at the gym—on the kitchen counter. She forgave him without a second thought. Then, they both said their goodbyes, and Lucy saw Steve out. She paused after locking the door, as if her brain needed a moment to finish processing the events of the morning. But now that she was alone, her bed called to her insistently, and she was more than happy to oblige it. 

* * *

_**Note:** This was an especially fun chapter to write. ^^ And it was so cool to be able to write the birthday scene at the end on my actual birthday (July 1st) and live vicariously through Lucy~ :')_


	21. Chapter 21

_**Note:** 2 of 2 chapters posted on July 4th, 2020_

* * *

**Chapter 21**

Lucy had not given any extensive thought to Thanksgiving as it had approached, but she couldn't help but feel homesick in the weeks leading up to her favorite holiday.

She probably would have had an easier time of coping if there had at least been snow. Or maybe that would have made it harder. Without snow, she could pretend that it wasn't two days before Christmas, that she wasn't missing her family more than she had in a long time.

At least, she thought so. It wasn't that easy.

The chilly night breeze accompanied her all the way back home, a grocery sack filled with containers of various hot and cold deli foods clutched in her hand. She climbed the stairs to the third floor. A few hours ago, after returning from an assignment that had taken longer than expected, Lucy had broached the subject of dinner to Steve, and he had offered up his place as the venue. Seeing as neither of them felt up to cooking, Lucy had volunteered to get takeout. Deli chicken and a variety of sides from the nearest convenience store sufficed nicely.

As she approached his door, a big-band melody and a pleasant female voice reached her ears from within the apartment. She paused, briefly wondering whether she should intrude in the middle of a song, but Steve had told her that the door would be unlocked and to come in when she arrived. So, she quietly turned the knob, to avoid being disruptive, and entered.

_"You'll never know how many dreams I dream about you, or just how empty they all seem without you . . ."_

Steve stood in front of his record player, his back to the living-room doorway. Lucy waited as the song continued. Something about the slump of his shoulders gave her pause.

_"So, kiss me once, then kiss me twice, then kiss me once again; it's been a long, long time."_

_So, this is the song . . ._

A saxophone solo filled the room, and the captain didn't move. Lucy recalled his expression when he had picked up the album back at the shop. Her heart ached. She felt as if she were witnessing a personal moment and that she shouldn't be there.

Suddenly, Steve glanced over his shoulder, as if sensing Lucy's gaze. His eyes met hers, and she found herself forcing a tiny smile as she held up the bag, hoping that he wasn't bothered by her sudden appearance. He lowered the volume on the player as the full sound of the band kicked in, playing out the finale of the song, then turned to face her—with that same expression that she had seen in the shop.

_Maybe the song wasn't such a good idea after all . . ._

The haunted look in his eyes remained for a moment longer, before being pushed back down and replaced by something softer and more neutral.

"Sorry, I didn't hear you come in."

She shook her head. "No, I'm sorry; I had bad timing."

"You're alright." A moment's pause. Then, with one of his bright smiles, he said, "Thanks for the food. I'm starving."

Lucy returned the smile, starting to relax. "It's been a—" _long day . . ._ She stopped herself before the words that echoed of the melancholic song left her lips, and chose something else. "—tiring day."

She followed him into the kitchen with the bag of comfort food, trying to forget the look of pain on his face, wishing that the urge to know what had caused it would go away. She desperately wanted to know what he felt, what haunted him. Though she could make a few guesses, she had a feeling that none would be the whole story. But it was not her place to bring it up. It would be up to him to choose when to tell her someday. If he ever would.

She really hoped so.

Steve laid out the plates on the kitchen table, and Lucy set out the containers of food, and the two of them tucked into a long-overdue meal.

"Any plans for Christmas?" Steve inquired after they had been eating for a couple of minutes.

Lucy wanted to say no, but she found it depressing. "I'll probably watch White Christmas. It's a family tradition." She tried to keep the loneliness out of her voice. She didn't feel the need—or the desire—to mention how deeply she missed her parents. Steve would already know that.

"Would you mind if I joined you?"

She looked up, meeting the pair of clear blue eyes across from her, and covered up the sudden sting of impending tears with a smile. "Not at all."

They both turned back to their plates, and after a moment spent idly scooping up a bit of potato salad with her fork, Lucy spoke again. "It's so weird . . . this is the first year I haven't had a Christmas tree . . ."

Before Steve could reply, the sound of a phone vibrating reached their ears. Steve glanced over at the counter and got to his feet, picking up the device and checking what was undoubtedly a message from Natasha. Dread pitted in Lucy's stomach. Not another assignment . . . They had had two in the span of a week, and all she wanted was to finish this meal with her friend and get a good night's sleep. But if going on a mission now, or even tomorrow, meant that she could have a quiet Christmas at home with Steve, then she would take that deal.

She watched him with apprehension as he read the message. His brow furrowed.

"What is it?"

"Something's happened."

"What?"

"Natasha says to turn on the news."

Steve hurried into the living room, with Lucy close behind, and turned on the television, skipping to the appropriate channel.

The screen was filled with aerial shots of a seaside cliff and what had once been some kind of structure, but was now nothing more than the aftermath of chaotic destruction. For a split second, Lucy stared in shock, not quite sure what she was looking at. Then, she saw the headline, and her blood ran cold.

_STARK MANSION IN RUINS. POSSIBLE PROVOKED ATTACK BY THE MANDARIN?_

Neither Lucy nor Steve moved a muscle as they listened intently to the newscaster's voice-over.

_"Many think that the attack is likely the work of the Mandarin, as it occurred shortly after Stark issued a challenge to the terrorist, in which he provided his home address."_

Steve made a low sound of frustration at Tony's recklessness. Lucy glanced up at him. His face was pained with worry as he took in the scene before them. The muscles in his neck were taut.

_"Authorities are in the process of investigating further, and it is still unclear whether Stark was killed in the attack, as his body has yet to be found."_

When Lucy finally recovered her voice, it felt weak. "He's . . . he's okay . . . He'll be okay."

Steve didn't have to say anything. His expression alone told her that he could only hope that she was right. But she didn't blame him. She wasn't sure how much confidence she actually had in her words herself. 

* * *

Christmas Day dawned, and despite the lack of a tree and festively wrapped gifts, it still managed to feel like her favorite holiday. She slipped into a warm red sweater and put on one of her Bing Crosby Christmas albums, then popped a tray of cinnamon rolls into the oven, along with a downsized version of her family's favorite fluffy egg casserole with spicy breakfast sausage.

While the food baked, she picked up her phone and called her parents. She had to stop herself from crying as she spoke to them, but she felt much better than she had even a few days prior, and by the end of the conversation, she had a genuine smile on her face. Next, she called Lena, and was pleased to hear that she was having a good time at a Christmas party. Lena might be the more outgoing of the two of them, but being so far away from home during Christmastime was bound to have some kind of effect on her, too, and Lucy was glad that the girl had something to keep her busy.

As soon as the rolls were done, she enjoyed one with a glass of orange juice while she waited for the casserole. Occasional thoughts of Tony Stark cropped up in her mind, but thankfully, they weren't bleak like they had been two days ago. The question of Stark's possible demise had been answered yesterday, when Iron Man rescued thirteen members of the crew of Air Force One when it was attacked mid-flight. The president had been kidnapped—a terrifyingly impressive feat—and it was still unclear as to what had become of him. Lucy tried not to dwell on it, trusting that Stark was in the process of rescuing him. She had only encountered Iron Man once, in Germany, and had never spoken to the man inside the armor, but she knew that he was a hero and an important comrade to Steve—perhaps even a friend. The president was probably in the most capable hands that he could be in at the moment.

After a comforting breakfast, Lucy put on some instrumental Christmas jazz and fit in a little studying, trying to focus and not think too much about the rest of the day.

Steve arrived in the early afternoon, carrying bottles of sparkling apple cider and cranberry juice and a red-and-green gift bag. He said that sparkling juice would have to do, since Lucy had another year before she reached legal drinking age. But she was completely fine with it. The fizzy drinks reminded her of holidays with her family.

With their sparkling drinks in hand, and a bowl of homemade popcorn tossed in salt and melted butter, the two settled into the couch and started the movie.

Even though White Christmas counted as an old movie, Steve had never seen it, since it hadn't come out until 1954. Lucy was excited to get his reaction to it, as it was one of her favorites. She could imagine that he might identify with the show-business aspect of the story, considering that that's where he'd gotten his start as Captain America. It was surreal to her, thinking about where he had begun and everything that he'd gone through to get to this point in his life.

When the intro came to an end, she worried about the opening scene a little, what with the war and the performance for the troops, hoping that it wouldn't bring back too many unpleasant memories for the captain. She snuck a glance his way. His brow was furrowed, perhaps in concentration, but there was something more in his eyes. She turned back to the screen, but her attention was on the man beside her more than the movie. It seemed like a totally new experience, watching it with Steve, and when Bing began his beautiful, heartfelt performance of _White Christmas_ for the troops, she found herself getting more emotional than usual. She could tell that Steve felt it, too.

Throughout the rest of the movie, she looked over at him periodically to catch his expressions. He seemed to be enjoying himself, especially when it came to the musical numbers and some of the Danny Kaye bits. They chuckled together at the clever and comedic snippets of dialogue, and Lucy couldn't help the slightly awkward nervousness that she felt, sitting mere feet away from Steve, during the scene between Phil and Judy on the window seat.

Predictably, she cried at the end—she could never help it—and when the movie faded to black and she glanced at Steve, he looked considerably misty himself.

He cleared his throat softly, but his voice seemed normal when he spoke. "I can see why it's a family tradition."

"Thanks for watching it with me," she replied, smiling, and reached for her sparkling cranberry juice to finish the last little bit.

"Absolutely."

There was still some time left before it would be a reasonable dinner time, so Lucy put on some jazz, and she and the captain faced off in a few games of checkers.

Suddenly, a knock came at the door. Lucy and Steve straightened up, turning quickly to look in the direction of the entryway, both prepared for anything. Steve got up first, and Lucy followed.

When Steve opened the door, they both relaxed instantly.

"I heard you were having a party, so I invited myself. Don't worry, I brought offerings."

Natasha held up a couple of bags of what looked like food, and Steve and Lucy stepped aside to let her in. She sauntered past them and led the way into the kitchen, where she unloaded a fried-chicken dinner—and a carton of eggnog. Non-alcoholic, of course.

Lucy grabbed up the carton excitedly. "I haven't had eggnog in years! Natasha, this is too much, you didn't have to."

The redhead dismissed her remark with a nonchalant shrug. "It's Christmas. We should have some kind of fun. And, sorry Rogers, but"—she pulled something else out of her pocket—"I'm going to treat myself." She held up a small bottle of liquor. Lucy smirked and laughed softly, then glanced at Steve, who wore a similar expression.

"So," Natasha spoke up from the armchair, a few minutes into the meal, "is the Star-Spangled Man going to be wearing a special uniform for the New Year's thing, or are you just going to look like you're about to kick some ass?"

Steve cracked a crooked grin, and Lucy had to stop herself from laughing with her mouthful of food. Natasha was referring to the special appearance that the city had requested that Captain America make at the Lincoln Memorial on New Year's Eve. Steve had been hesitant at first—probably reminded too much of all of the fanfare during the war—but had ultimately agreed to a brief appearance.

"My usual is just fine," he replied, leaning forward, to retrieve his glass of water from the coffee table. Lucy had told him that she wouldn't mind if he wanted to have a beer, but he'd insisted that water was enough. His consideration for her not drinking was just another personality trait that made Lucy's heart ache. Every time he did or said something that reminded her of his old-world upbringing, it seemed to get harder and harder to not be attracted to him.

"I'll be sure to take plenty of pictures for posterity," Natasha said, lifting her own glass of sparkling cranberry juice—laced with vodka—to her lips.

The meal was satisfying, and as the last empty plate was set aside on the coffee table, Lucy got up and hurried off to her bedroom. Seconds later, she returned, carrying two gifts: a festive bag with a vintage Santa motif, and a small box wrapped in paper decorated with red and white Christmas trees.

"Merry Christmas," she said, handing the bag to Steve and the box to Natasha. The latter appeared to be a little surprised, and Lucy sat back down, feeling slightly nervous. She hadn't been sure of what to get her—the woman seemed like she never needed anything, and Lucy didn't know much about her personal life—so she hoped that the gift would be acceptable. Steve's gift, on the other hand, she was fairly confident about.

Steve smiled warmly in silent thanks, then looked to Natasha, who nodded at the bag in his hands. "You first, Cap."

The captain removed the dark-red tissue paper, reached inside, and pulled out the DVD: It's a Wonderful Life.

"I was pretty sure you hadn't seen it yet," Lucy said as he examined the cover. "It's kind of a classic Christmas movie. But it's good for any time, really."

"Thanks," Steve replied with a soft smile. "It looks good. I can't wait to watch it."

"Your turn," Lucy said to Natasha, and the redhead efficiently tore the paper off of the little box. She turned the box over in her hands for a moment before opening it, withdrawing a sleek, black pocket knife. It had as many useful features as Lucy could find, and if nothing else, it suited the image of Black Widow.

The bit of anxiety in Lucy's stomach eased when Natasha extended the longest blade and inspected it with an approving nod.

"Not bad taste, Artemis. Thanks."

Steve then passed the gift that he had brought to Lucy. She reached inside, and as soon as her hand grasped it, she knew that her excitement had not been in vain. She pulled it out, and her face lit up as she admired the cover of the Frank Sinatra Christmas record.

She grinned at Steve. "It's perfect! You know me and Frank."

"That I do," he smiled in return. "Now, if you ladies will excuse me, I'll just run up and get Natasha's."

Natasha made a face, as if she thought the notion that he would get her a present was ridiculous. "Oh, you didn't . . ."

"I definitely did."

Steve left the apartment, and Lucy chuckled to herself.

Natasha narrowed her eyes in false suspicion. "Should I be afraid?"

"Why?" Lucy asked, still smiling.

"What kind of gift would Mr. Star-Spangled Hero from World War II give a modern woman? Aside from a record album for the music nerd in his life," she added, and Lucy almost blushed. "It'll probably be some kind of jewelry with an American flag on it."

Lucy wouldn't mind such a gift herself—she wouldn't mind any gift that came from Steve—but the thought of Natasha wearing something like that did seem inappropriate.

"I would assume that he knows you better than that," she said, and the next second, footsteps approached the apartment door, and Steve reentered, carrying another bag. He settled back into the couch and handed the gift to the redhead.

She raised an eyebrow at him before reaching into the bag.

Then, she paused and gave Steve a deadpan look as she withdrew the contents. Lucy tried to withhold her laugh, and it came out a little less gracefully than she would have wished, but she didn't care. She was too shocked by the comical pair of red fuzzy dice that dangled from Natasha's hand.

Lucy glanced at Steve. He looked extremely satisfied with himself, the humor obviously intended.

"I thought your car was missing a little . . . something."

The corner of Natasha's lips twitched. "Well played, Rogers."

Soon, the three of them once again found themselves engrossed in poker, accompanied by the mellow strains of Nat King Cole and Steve Lawrence—the latter being after the captain's time, but he thoroughly enjoyed both, as Lucy had hoped that he would—and when the sun finally began to set, casting a cozy, warm glow into the living room, Lucy realized that she hadn't yearned for home in many hours. This was truly her home now. And these two people beside her had become her family. 

* * *

Lucy was awakened on the twenty-ninth by a familiar buzzing sound. She was disoriented at first, but when she realized that it was her phone vibrating on the bedside table, she was suddenly much more alert, and quickly reached for it.

She had hoped to see Steve's name, though it seemed too early for that. Or Natasha's, which she hoped was not the case, for it would probably mean an assignment, and it seemed too early for that, too. But the name that she was faced with took her completely by surprise, even confused her.

_Rumlow._

She frowned and answered the call, trying not to sound like she had just been pulled out of sleep. "Hello?"

"Artemis, Pierce wants to see you."

"Pierce . . . ?" _Not Fury?_

"There's something important he wants to discuss with you."

Lucy sat up quickly, taking in Rumlow's brief instructions for getting to Pierce's office, then ended the call and hurried to her dresser.

She was out the door faster than she would have thought possible after having been awakened earlier than she normally got up to run, but the even more impossible-seeming task waited for her at the curb.

Her black Mazda was more daunting than ever, but she didn't hesitate, and circled around to the driver's side. It would have been much worse had she not finally decided to take the car out for a drive a few weeks before with Steve. Of course, the captain wasn't as familiar with modern cars as she was, but it his presence had been a tremendous reassurance, and had even given her a boost of confidence—once she had gotten past the little flutter of extra nerves in her stomach. This time, however, she was alone, and the nervous energy was all thanks to the unknown nature of what lay ahead.

She had crossed the Potomac countless times, but this was the first time that she couldn't look out across the water—only up at the towering concrete structure that was S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters.

She found a spot in the garage and brought the car to a smooth halt, breathing an internal sigh of relief that she had managed to arrive safely, then got out and hurried into the expansive glass-ceilinged lobby.

The sun usually provided most, if not all of the lighting in the vast space, but seeing as the sun was barely peeking over the horizon, pale artificial light was utilized. Hardly anyone had arrived yet, and the atmosphere was almost eerie as Lucy crossed to the nearest elevator.

"World Security Council," Lucy announced, and the pleasant, automated female voice replied, "Confirmed," as the doors closed. The car carried her up, and up, and up, much higher than Fury's office, and the uneasy pit in her stomach seemed to increase with the height. She took a slow deep breath, and the elevator stopped. The doors opened.

She walked out with as much confidence as she could muster.

_You're a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent,_ she reminded herself. _Pull it together._

She knocked on the proper door, and as soon as she heard Pierce's voice call out, "Come in," she obeyed.

A dark-haired woman sitting at a small desk beside the door stood upon Lucy's entry, smiled at her, and ducked out of the room, leaving Lucy to face the bespectacled man behind the desk at the opposite end of the office.

"Agent Carlisle. That was awfully fast," Pierce remarked. "Here, sit." He gestured to one of the leather chairs in front of the desk.

As Lucy came forward, her eyes strayed to the wall of windows on the right side of the room, which looked into a much larger room with four high-backed chairs on the far side. Behind them and to their left were two more walls of windows that overlooked the sprawling city below. A large slate-gray S.H.I.E.L.D. emblem was displayed proudly on the only non-glass wall.

She took a seat.

"How is life in DC treating you?"

Lucy looked at him silently for a moment, then gave a slight, stiff nod. "It's good." She appreciated his efforts to make her more comfortable, but she would really prefer that he just explain why he had asked her here.

"I'm glad to hear it." He removed his glasses and placed them on the desk, on top of a few documents. "Your performance has been exceptional," he went on, settling back in his chair. "You've been an asset to your team."

"Thank you, Sir."

"I have an upcoming assignment that may require . . . _special_ skills, and as the captain has a prior engagement, you will be accompanying Agent Rumlow and his men."

Lucy stared, her mind reeling. She was being sent instead of Steve?The twisting pit in her stomach bottomed out.

"When do we leave, Sir?" she managed to ask.

"At oh-three-hundred on the thirty-first. Our intelligence suspects that there is going to be an assassination attempt on Gregory Beringer, an attaché to the French ambassador. He and the ambassador will be attending a summit on New Year's Eve at Stockholm's Grand Hotel. Afterward there will be a cocktail party to celebrate the new year. You, Agent Rumlow, and a few of the other men, will keep watch for threats and stop any possible attempts on his life for the duration of the summit and the afterparty."

Lucy processed this information as quickly as she could, still not having fully wrapped her head around the fact that she would be going on a mission—overseas—without the captain.

Then, something else clicked in her mind.

"Is Natasha not going either?"

"Agent Romanoff won't be needed for this assignment."

That seemed a little strange to Lucy. Thwarting an assassination attempt seemed to be an extremely worthwhile use of Natasha's skills.

But it wasn't her place to question it. _This is what it means to be an agent. You receive orders and carry them out._

"Agent Rumlow assures me that you are more than capable yourself, Agent Carlisle," Pierce added. "With his leadership, this should go smoothly."

She nodded, trying not to be too stiff and reveal just how intimidating it all sounded. "Yes, Sir."

"Good. You're dismissed." He slid his glasses back into place.

Lucy got to her feet and made for the door.

"Oh, and Carlisle?"

She halted and looked back.

"This is classified."

His pointed look over the top of his glasses told her more than he was saying. And she understood.

_You're not to tell anyone the details of this assignment. No one._

Her stomach felt like lead.

"Of course."

He nodded and returned his attention to the documents on his desk.

The ride back down to the lobby felt much too short. Before Lucy knew it, the doors opened, and she was pulled out of her swarm of overwhelming thoughts. Not much time had passed, and the sky above the glass ceiling was only a touch lighter. Lucy's legs carried her back to the garage, as if on autopilot, and after getting into her car, she just sat there, staring.

She had never gone on a mission without Steve leading the way. And an assassination was different than a band of smugglers. It felt like there was more at stake when someone's like was imminently on the line. Did she have the ability to put a stop to it? To directly save a man's life?

The memory of throwing herself in front of Steve before he could be shot returned vividly, and she could almost still feel the severe bruise that the bullet had given her. She _could_ save a life. Still, the doubt was there, and if she was going to pull off this assignment, the last thing that she needed was to doubt herself.

Steve wouldn't doubt her. He would give her confidence.

If he knew what she was about to do, he would bolster her and tell her how capable she was. And despite Natasha's teasing, she would offer her own words of encouragement.

But Lucy couldn't tell them. She couldn't tell Steve how worried she was. If she could, she knew that he would want to go with her.

She imagined him, in uniform, standing in front of a crowd of excited, happy people about to ring in the new year, surrounded by cheers and applause and fanfare. And she regretted that she wouldn't be there.

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and started the car.

_Receive orders. And carry them out._

* * *

It was the longest flight of Lucy's life. She had gone to bed at eight o'clock, to make up for the sleep that she would lose, but her mind had refused to calm down, so she hadn't been able to doze off until a couple of hours later. Her alarm had jarred her awake at two o'clock in the morning. With only a few hours of sleep under her belt, she had gotten ready to leave, reassuring herself that she could get a little more sleep on the jet.

But there was too much to think about, and she wanted to be as mentally prepared as possible for what was to come.

She spent the hours-long flight going over surveillance, the layout of the hotel and its surroundings, and familiarizing herself with neighboring buildings that could be used as vantage points for snipers.

Snipers.

She hoped that the assassin wouldn't be a sniper. She doubted that her suit would offer adequate protection from one of those rounds.

The team would be posing as extra security, so they each put on simple black suits over their body armor. They wouldn't be as conspicuous this way, and it would allow them to carry their guns without question.

It had been dark when they'd left DC, and it was dark when they arrived in Stockholm, despite it being the middle of the afternoon. Midwinter was strange in some places of the world, and it was just one more thing to add to Lucy's anxiety. Darkness would give a potential assassin some good cover. She hoped that the city lights would dispel enough of the shadows.

She and the rest of the team followed Rumlow's lead through the city, and gradually, some of the other men broke off to scope out and secure the buildings around the hotel. She and Rumlow entered through the revolving door.

Lucy had never set foot in a hotel like this. The style and decor were stunning. But she had no time for distractions. After passing through a metal detector and showing false credentials to the security personnel, she marched along behind Rumlow, until they came to a conference room. Rumlow stopped outside the open door, a short distance from three actual security guards, and Lucy stood next to him, back against the wall.

The meeting dragged on and on, and Lucy tried to combat the boredom by keeping her mind sharp. She went over strategies for battling an assassin in various scenarios, using what she knew about the hotel and its surroundings to run little simulations in her head. Still, it felt like it had been much longer than three hours when the politicians started to file out of the conference room.

With relief, Lucy followed Rumlow and the crowd to the reception space: a breathtakingly opulent ballroom. She couldn't help but take a few seconds to soak in the grandeur. Ornate, gilded ornamentation, paintings on the ceiling, huge chandeliers, and four tall, window-like mirrors on the left and right-hand walls. It was a spectacular sight and an appropriate venue for a New Year's Eve celebration such as this. She wished that Steve could see it.

She and Rumlow quickly spotted Gregory Beringer in the crowd, then stood sentinel with the rest of security at the edge of the room, keeping their eyes on the potential target and anyone nearby.

With so much going on, Lucy found her nerves returning after having gone dormant during the long wait in the hallway. She worried that she would miss something crucial and that it would cost Beringer his life. So, despite her lack of proper sleep, she watched the room intently. A few times, the wafting aromas of hors d'oeuvres reminded her that she had not had a proper breakfast either, but she ignored her stomach and remained vigilant.

The minutes became hours, though she did not know how many. She wondered how long it would be until Steve made his appearance as Captain America at the Lincoln Memorial. Maybe he already had . . .

_No. Think about him later._

She refocused herself. This assignment may be important, but she wasn't accustomed to just standing guard like this. It amazed her that people did this for a living.

Suddenly, the comms came to life, and the voice of one of the agents spoke into Lucy's ear.

"I think I've got something . . ."

"What is it?" came Rumlow's reply, a few feet to her right.

"He's headed for the hotel, and he doesn't look dressed for the occasion."

Then, a second voice came on, sounding winded. "I'm going to intercept! Back me up!"

Lucy's eyes snapped to Rumlow.

"Go," he said sharply. "I'll handle things here."

She turned on her heel and made for the door, catching her superior's last-minute "Be careful!" as she left the room.

The voice of the agent in pursuit of the potential assassin came again in her ear. "Hey! Don't move!"

"Where are you?!" Lucy asked as she ran.

"Out front!" the man replied, then, "I said, stop!"

Gunshots.

A pause.

Then a grunt of pain and a yell that sounded awfully like the agent.

Lucy ran harder, unholstering her gun and chambering a round.

Heart pounding—not merely because of her pace—she dashed through the lobby and into the revolving door, preparing herself for a fight.

She got one sooner than expected.

The instant that the door opened up to the night, she froze. She barely had time to take in the sight of the large man before her—his broad shoulders, black combat suit, and the black mask covering the lower half of his face—before he lunged forward, right hand outstretched. She threw up her left arm to prevent his hand from closing around her throat, and he grabbed her forearm, pressing her backwards, into the revolving door, simultaneously knocking her gun from her other hand. It clattered to the ground as her back hit one of the panels of glass. She tried not to let fear overwhelm her as the man's eyes bored into her, piercing through a mask of black war paint, and framed by dark hair just a bit longer than her own.

She saw his left arm move, and she ducked aside to the best of her ability, her own arm still in his vice-like grip. She barely avoided his fist. It collided with the glass—and shattered it. Her eyes widened. He didn't seem fazed by it at all. Instead, he grabbed her shoulder and swung her around, into the curved wall of the revolving door. She braced herself, but some of the air was forced out of her lungs upon impact.

Unable to wrench her forearm out of his bruising grip, she tried to shove his left hand off of her shoulder. When that merely caused his hard, powerful fingers to squeeze her harder, she yelled in pain and aimed a solid kick at his midsection. He didn't budge. She kicked him again, and he responded by lifting her off of the ground, sliding her farther up the glass wall. She shoved hard at his stomach with both feet, almost growling through clenched teeth with frustration and increasing pain. She was fighting a solid wall of a man. The smuggler that she had wrestled to the ground hadn't been nearly as sturdy.

This was more like fighting Steve.

She brought her knees up, and attempted to gain leverage with her feet against his chest, but he retaliated by slamming her back against the glass again. And again. Pain burst in the back of her skull, but she continued to struggle in his powerful hold.

She latched on to his left arm with her free hand and squeezed, hoping to at least cause him a fraction of the pain that he was inflicting upon her. But to her shock, the flesh beneath his black sleeve was hard as stone.

With desperation, she went for the only thing that she could: his face. She thrust her hand out, and the assassin moved his head a fraction. Her fingers brushed his mask.

Before she could try again, he lifted her from the wall, swung her out of the revolving door—then let go.

She flew through the air for a terrifying second before landing hard on the cold concrete in front of the hotel. She rolled for several feet, then gasped for air, fighting the pain and disorientation as she tried to locate the assassin. By the time she laid eyes on him, he was upon her once again. He came down on one knee, and his right hand went for her throat.

She thrashed on the pavement, clutching at his hand, eyes watering with panic. She kicked and caught him in the back and shoulder, but he barely reacted.

_Steve—! Steve!_

She screamed for the captain in her mind as she saw her life slipping away. Could she not see him one last time? Before she . . .

No. She couldn't die here. Not like this. She couldn't do that to her parents, to Lena—to Steve.

But she couldn't beat this man. She could only try and fail.

So be it.

If she was going to die, she would do it fighting.

With renewed determination, no matter how useless, she glared straight back into the man's intense gaze, and began to knee him repeatedly in the back, willing him to release her. He tolerated the blows for a few more seconds before lifting her off of the cement, as if winding up his arm. She braced herself for impact, ready for the end.

Then, he froze.

His eyes flicked to the left, as though he were thinking. Or listening. She heard nothing but the blood rushing in her ears.

Then, he did the unthinkable, and released her. She gasped and coughed and watched as he stood, turned, and walked away, as if he had completely lost interest in her. After a few seconds, her brain seemed to start working properly again, and she had a moment of fear when she realized that he had not yet completed his goal: assassinating Beringer. She struggled onto her side and tried to push herself up, wincing at the pain that shot through her hip and shoulder as she looked in the direction in which the assassin had gone.

The hotel was the other way.

She didn't have the energy to be confused, so she chose to be relieved. Relieved that she had survived. Relieved that perhaps the assassination had been thwarted. She let herself collapse back onto the coarse pavement and felt utterly relieved that she would be able to see Steve again.

She didn't know how long she had been lying there before Rumlow and a few other agents were at her side. As they helped her up, she informed them, as well as she could, of what had just happened, and was glad to know that the agent who had encountered the assassin before her had also survived, though not without his own bruises. Rumlow said that the rest of the party had been called off, after the violent incident had been witnessed by more than one employee, and the authorities had been called. Security was on high alert, and S.H.I.E.L.D. was pulling out. Another thing for Lucy to be relieved about.

Rumlow stayed by her side as they made their way back to the Quinjet, keeping a hand on her arm in case she stumbled or collapsed. But she didn't. She walked through the sharp twinges and the aches, and was rewarded with a comfortable chair on board the aircraft.

One of the agents checked out her injuries and applied some salve to the cuts and scrapes on her hands from when she had been thrown. The bruises weren't bad enough to warrant her stripping down to get them treated. Besides, the discomfort would fade when sleep came.

And it did. 

* * *

It was dark again when they arrived back in DC.

Lucy pushed herself out of her seat and exited the jet as the engine finished powering down.

She and the team made their way to the armory. She was glad to be free of her suit—both suits. She unloaded her gun, which the others had retrieved for her, and replaced it on its rack, then headed for the showers.

The bruises looked worse than she'd hoped. The one on his shoulder, made by the assassin's rock-hard left hand, was particularly dark. Steve would ask about it the next time that they sparred. She would have to wear a T-shirt that covered it well, or he would be worried.

A lump rose in her throat, and her breath hitched. She wanted so desperately to tell him about the masked man, about the fight. About almost being killed.

But she didn't imagine that disclosing anything about what had happened on the mission would be looked upon kindly by Pierce. Maybe someday she could tell him. Someday. Just not when she really needed to.

At least he was aware that she had been given an assignment, and he knew that she couldn't talk about it. That would at least make it easier for her to follow the rules.

The masked face of the assassin and the sound of shattering glass flashed through her mind yet again, and she squeezed her eyes shut beneath the stream of water. For a moment, she felt as if he might grab her from behind, but she pushed aside the groundless fear and turned off the shower.

Driving home was the last thing that she wanted to do, but she was afraid that if she called Steve, she might break down and say things that she shouldn't. So she shut herself inside of her car and took a few moments to gather herself before pulling out of the garage.

She drove more cautiously than normal, through streets bustling with partygoers and an abundance of traffic. Though it probably would have been more intimidating had she not just survived a fight with an assassin.

When she came to a stop in front of her building, her eyes went immediately to Steve's parking spot. The bike was gone.

It was just as well, she thought. If he had been home, she would have been tempted to see him. She briefly toyed with the notion of going down to the Lincoln Memorial, but what she really needed was her bed.

She didn't even feel like eating anymore.

The steps creaked slightly as she climbed. It seemed to take her a little longer than usual to reach her landing. Odd, since she could walk just fine now.

She stepped into her apartment, closed the door securely behind her, and locked it, pausing for a few long seconds afterward, her hand on the knob, as if to make sure that nothing would get in. Then, she retreated farther into the apartment.

After a long drink of water—her first since boarding the Quinjet to leave Stockholm—she made her way into her bedroom, bringing a sleeve of crackers with her, in case hunger decided to rear its head again.

She crawled into bed and checked her phone. Lots of "Happy New Year" messages awaited her. She halfheartedly replied to Lena's and her parents', her written words appearing to be in much brighter spirits than she felt, returning their sentiments and wishing them well, and letting them know that she'd had a very long day at work and was going to bed.

She closed her eyes and relaxed into her soft mattress.

Minutes passed.

She repeatedly shoved down thoughts of the night's events.

After what must have been well over an hour, her mind was still reeling, refusing her body what it needed most.

She saw the masked man bearing down upon her, arm outstretched for her throat.

She felt her back hit the concrete.

She saw his eyes behind the black paint.

His cold, intense eyes. Ready for the kill.

She realized that her heart was pounding, and she clutched at her chest, taking deep breaths. Her apartment seemed so quiet.

Suddenly, distant explosions broke the silence. She flinched, and realized what they were a moment later. She reached for her phone again, and checked the time.

12:00 AM.

A new day.

A new year.

Then, a notification appeared on the screen.

As soon as she saw Steve's name, she opened it.

_'Happy new year!'_

She stared at the message for a moment.

Then, the tears came.

She released everything that she hadn't known that she'd been holding in for the entire day—possibly longer—and was briefly glad to be alone.

When the tears lessened, she pulled herself together and sent the same message back to Steve.

His reply came almost immediately.

_'You're home?'_

Her throat constricted.

_'Yeah. Just got back a little while ago.'_

_'How did it go?'_

She stared at his words. She could tell him. She could spoil it all right here, spill her guts, tell him about the pain in her shoulder, about the eyes that wouldn't leave her alone.

_'You okay?'_

More tears began to fall.

_Someday. Just not today._

_'Yeah. It went well. Mission accomplished!'_

_'Good job. I knew you'd be fine.'_

She choked back a sob and closed her eyes.

When she opened them again, she felt a little steadier.

_'Thank you, Steve. That means a lot. And thank you for checking in on me. I hope everything went well tonight, and I look forward to hearing about it, but it's been a long day, and I'm ready to sleep.'_

_'Of course. Have a good night. And it went fine; though it's probably not as exciting as you're thinking. P.S. Next time you're up for a run, let me know.'_

Smiling through blurry vision, she told him that she was looking forward to it, then put her phone on the bedside table and closed her eyes once more.

Her mind seemed to have calmed considerably. Maybe it was the crying, or maybe it was Steve. Either way, it didn't matter.

As she drifted off, she tried to focus her thoughts on Steve, but inevitably, images of the masked assassin forced their way through, and it was almost as though the two men were fighting each other when deep sleep finally claimed her mind. 

* * *

_**Note:** At last, we've reached the end of the first arc. Thank you, everyone, for sticking with me so far. :') I can't believe that it's been a year! I hope that you'll continue to enjoy the story as it moves forward, and I hope that you're all doing well. :) Thank you again!_


End file.
